Icarus
by Snakequeen-in-Norway
Summary: Flying too close to the sun is bad enough, but what happens when you fall in love with it? / Torture & aftermath; dark, possibly suicidal thoughts, but a light at the end of the tunnel / Destiel & Sabriel / S11 / Name taken from the reference in "Carry on Wayward Son," the name of Jensen's dog & that random pig that made a convention appearance, & its general aptness for my story
1. Prologue

**Author's Note: So, this wasn't supposed to happen, lol. From my senior year of high school through the first half of college I was fairly established in the world of fanfiction. About a year and a half to two years ago, as I began to wrap up the last of my in-progress stories and look toward starting a sequel that I had promised, I decided that said sequel would be my way of bowing out from the world of writing fanfiction in favor of focusing on my original ideas, which I feel like I now have the skills and wherewithal to tackle. Then, a few weeks ago, I decided, on a whim, to read a bit of** _ **Supernatural**_ **fanfiction, though I haven't regularly read fanfiction for years. I have a habit of playing out scenes in my head (with my own characters or someone else's) as I fall asleep, to give my brain something to occupy it that fades more naturally into sleep than "OMG, remember all the things you have to do/could have done better?" Naturally, Dean & Cas and Sam & Gabe took up residence for a few nights after I started reading **_**Supernatural**_ **fanfiction. Nine times out of ten, these scenes get no farther than the moment I doze off. The tenth time they become a major plot bunny leading to an idea for an extended fanfiction I never intended to write but about which my brain will now literally not shut up. Oops. But you're here to read my story, not about my story, so I'll let you get on with it after a couple pertinent notes:**

 **One: This is the first story for which I have a beta. Well, actually I have two: one because I offered to let her read the chapters before I post them, the other because I decided I needed a Sap Police. The** _ **Supernatural**_ **characters are a lot older and, for lack of a better word, more macho, than the characters I have written in the past. I can get away with having Al & Scor, Kurt & Blaine, even Artemis & Holly do and say things that would be beyond laughable coming from Dean & Cas or even Sam & Gabe. So I asked my friend, a guy in his late 20s who is a huge **_**Supernatural**_ **fan (model of the Impala, Samulet, Dean jacket, selfies in front of the Men of Letters Bunker exterior), but doesn't read fanfiction or ship Destiel (he's not against it either. Please don't start a war. That's like the only thing that this fandom fights over & I think it's ridiculous, as both sides obviously have validity. PM me if you want my full analysis on that), to read my chapters before I post them, mostly for characterization/character interaction believability. If I can convince him, then I've accomplished something.**

 **Two: It was unbelievably difficult to find a point in time once Jimmy is happily in Heaven (because the poor guy really doesn't need to be privy to Cas & Dean's eventual romance. Ew) where everyone involved is themselves. No soulless Sam, no Mark of Cain, no Human Cas, no no spells, no brainwashing, no trying to become God (seriously Cas, get your shit together, lol). I made a SPN chronology jus to sort everything out. In the end, I did have to erase Rowena's attack dog spell from the end of Season 10/beginning of Season 11 in order to set my story there and have events work as they need to. Considering how much I dislike Rowena, it didn't seem like much of a sacrifice. Don't get me wrong, Ruth Connel is the shit. Her SEACon panel almost made me forget how annoying I find her character. And actually, I found her more palatable in the last few episodes of Season 11, but that's beside the point. Which is: This fic starts at the end of Season 10/beginning of Season 11. Everything is pretty much canon up to then except for some character interactions and no attack dog spell. The prologue is mostly retellings of and additions to parts of the second half of Season 10, to set things up. Obviously events in Season 11 will change, but I am hoping to weave the general plot of Season 11 through my story.**

 **Now, on with the show!**

 **-SQ  
**

 **Disclaimer: Does Snakequeen-in-Norway look like a pen name Chuck would use to you?**

 **Prologue**

Dean could have blamed it on the Mark of Cain, but he knew that alone didn't justify his actions, not really. The hunter glared down at his clasped hands, his exposed forearm now unblemished save for the usual scars inherent to his line of work.

The arguments had started out small.

" _Dude, Claire's sending you a pretty clear 'screw off' message, maybe you should listen to her. I mean, you look like her dead dad; can you really blame her for not wanting you around?"_

 _Castiel gave Dean a glare that was as much human as it was Angel of the Lord. "She is still a child, Dean. She needs someone in her life who cares for her."_

" _Believe me man, I get it, I'm an expert on the whole guilt thing, but I think you should take a back seat on this one."_

" _Don't tell me what to do, Dean."_

" _Cas, you're not her father—" but the angel was already gone._

Dean didn't know when they had stopped making up after each fight. Probably the same time he lost count of how many there had been.

" _Dean, I do not think it advisable for you to hunting this condition."_

" _I'm fine," grunted Dean, wrapping a bandage tightly around the cut on his arm. "It's barely a scratch; I've had worse."_

" _While it is rather more than a scratch, I was not referring merely to your physical wound."_

" _You think I'm going crazy?" said Dean "Is that what you and Sam have been whispering about? Don't think I haven't seen you, gossiping like school girls."_

" _Dean."_

" _Do you think I'm too delicate to hear what you two have to say about me, is that it? Because you spend so much of the time you are around with Sam these days, I'm surprised you two haven't tied the knot already. Why don't you guy him a ring and be done with it?"_

" _Dean."_

" _I'm still here you know, I haven't died yet. And I'm still me—I'm not just this_ thing _on my arm." Dean gestured angrily to the mark of Cain._

" _Dean!" Dean felt his jaw shut seemingly of its own accord and glared daggers at the angel in front of him. "Dean," said Castiel in a softer voice. "I am merely concerned for you. Sam and I both are."_

" _Yeah, well, don't be," said Dean, massaging his jaw. "And don't do that," he added. You'll waste your Grace."_

*****SPN*****

" _Dean, we need to talk."_

 _Dean didn't look up from the gun he was cleaning. "No, we don't."_

" _Dean, I would very much like to talk to you."_

" _If you can't tell, Cas, I'm a little busy right now."_

 _A sigh. "You always seem to be busy lately, Dean."_

" _The pot calling to kettle black, are we?"_

" _I do not see any cook ware here, Dean."_

 _Dean took a deep breath, clenching his fists to keep the irrational rage in check. "Just. Get. Lost. Cas."_

*****SPN*****

 _And the dreams, the visions—they didn't always come only when he was asleep—didn't help matters either._

 _His fist made a satisfying sound as it collided with Castiel's ribs again and again, drawing a strangled grunt from the angel as the bone splintered beneath the skin. Dean grinned and aimed a punch at Cas' jaw, feeling the warm blood blossom over the pale flesh, staining his knuckles crimson…_

 _Dean sat up in bed with a jolt, heart racing, the Mark of Cain burning on his arm. He drew a shuddery breath. It hadn't been real. This time. But Dean knew he wouldn't sleep any more tonight._

 _There were times, waking, otherwise lucid times, when he wanted to hurt Sam and Cas, could almost feel the thrilling sensation of their flesh ripping beneath his hands. And as the idiot angel still didn't seem to understand the concept of personal space, sometimes Dean's only choice was to up and walk away. Rude, yes, but definitely better than the alternative._

 _Well, maybe if Cas was mad at Dean, he at least wouldn't hesitate to kill him when the time came._

*****SPN*****

 _Dean surveyed the carnage around him with a sense of satisfaction. He had ended those sons of bitches, and it had felt good. Pleas for mercy had no effect on Dean Winchester—the Stynes were monsters, and monsters got what they deserved._

" _Dean."_

 _Dean turned around slowly. The blood was pounding in his ears so hard that it was difficult to hear the angel's words, but his eyes were hard as they met Castiel's._

" _What have you done?"_

 _The answer being obvious, Dead didn't bother to respond. He observed with a detached distain as the once aloof celestial being bent over the bodies as though they meant something other than three fewer monsters polluting the Earth._

 _"You killed him," said Castiel, with his inherent knack for stating the obvious. Dean resisted the urge to role his eyes with difficulty._

" _I took down a monster. Because that's what I do." Dean spoke slowly and carefully, as though using each word to anchor himself to reality. "And I'll continue to do that, until—"_

" _Until you become the monster." Cas was facing Dean again, the expression on his face a combination of heartbreak and accusation._

 _Dean, for once, held his gaze, turning around only once he had dismissed the bleeding-heart angel. "You can leave now, Cas."_

 _Perhaps using the angel's nickname had been a mistake; it seemed to bolster Castiel's resolve._

" _No," he said, and Dean could have laughed at the way Castiel still thought he had any right to issue orders to Dean. Or to anyone._

" _I can't," continued Cas, advancing on Dean's retreating back. "Because I'm your friend."_

 _Something stirred in Dean then, something soft and weak and far more dangerous than the Mark of Cain. But the same word that had given life to the feeling also provided him with the means of extinguishing it._

 _When he had a handle on his emotions, Dean turned around and sized up the man-shaped angel facing him across the body-strewn room. A different fire burned in his mind now, one of hatred and rage. He advanced on Castiel, his eyes blazing._

" _Let me ask you something," he threw the accusation at the angel like a curse. "You screw over all your friends?"_

" _Sam and I were trying to cure you. We still are."_

 _The two were almost nose to nose now; Dean could feel the air he knew Castiel didn't have to breathe on his face._

" _Like hell."_

 _Cas was fumbling now for words, Dean could see it._

" _We can read the book now." And apparently also for ideas._

" _Yeah, so what? So you_ might _find a spell that_ might _take this crap off my arm?"_

 _Vaguely Dean registered the desperation in Cas' expression that would have once made him drop everything to bring a smile to that face again. Now it just made him angry._

" _Well, even if you do, what's it gonna cost?" he challenged. Fucking naïve bastard, always had been. "'Cause magic like that does not come free. No, it comes with a price that you pay in blood." And no one, not Cas, not Sam, not even Crowley was going to pay that price for him again. "So thanks, but no thanks. I'm good."_

 _It took more effort than it should have for Dean to break eye contact and turn away, but when he did, Cas put a hand on his shoulder, pulling him back._

" _No," he said again. What an infuriating word, 'no.'_

 _The stupid son of a bitch turned Dean to face him again—seriously, did he have a death wish?—and when he spoke, the mixture of pity and contempt in his voice was sickening. "You're not. Maybe you could fight the Mark for years, maybe centuries like Cain did, but you cannot fight it forever. And when you finally turn, and you will turn, Sam, and everyone you know, everyone you love, they could be long dead. Everyone except me. I'm the one who will have to watch you murder the world, so if there's even a small chance that we can save you, I won't let you walk out of this room."_

 _Halfway through Cas' fucking Oscar speech, Dean found that he could no longer look at the angel, but his voice was steady as he uttered his contemptuous reply. "Oh, you think you have a choice?" The second half of the question: You think any of us have a choice? went unspoken._

" _I think the Mark is changing you."_

 _Dean had to give Cas props for courage at least._

" _You're wrong." Or if he wasn't, it didn't matter._

" _Am I? Because the Dean Winchester I know, would never have murdered that kid."_

" _Yeah, well, that Dean's always been kind of a dick."_

Again _, Castiel stopped him, as if he could possibly deny that statement. Damn angel didn't know how to quit while he was ahead._

" _Dean, I don't want to hurt you."_

 _Cas' earnestness, his goddamned laughable amount of_ faith _after all the shit that had gone down between them, and that other emotion, the one Dean would not, could not name, very nearly broke Dean. So he did the only thing he could: He broke Cas first._

 _It was just like his darkest fantasies, only a hundred times more real. The feeling of Castiel's skin breaking against his knuckles, his joints screaming as Dean bent them in ways no human body was intended to bend. The spurt of the warm, red blood across his hand. Dean pulled away with difficulty, unwilling to let this play out to its inevitable conclusion._

" _Dean. Stop."_

 _And still, even after everything, against all his better judgement screaming at him to go, Dean had no power to resist that voice._

 _His fist collided with Castiel's jaw, and this time the punch wasn't pulled. Again and again he rained down blows on his former ally, the man he had once referred to as family, a thrill going up his spine at the satisfying_ thunk _the other man's head made each time it hit the table. Dean saw red. Castiel was going to die and he, Dean, was going to love every second of it. Dean found Cas' Angel Blade and ripped it from his sleeve, holding the weapon poised above the helpless and bleeding angel, just like in his dreams._

 _With an effort, Cas forced his eyes open and lifted his hand, clasping the wrist of the hand Dean had fastened around his tie and the front of his shirt. "Dean," he said, the utterance more of a grunt than a word. "Please…"_

 _Dean's entire body shook with the desire, the_ need _to plunge that blade into the angel's heart. But his eyes…he couldn't tear them away from Cas' piercing blue ones. The seconds dragged on indeterminably as they stared at each other, assailant and victim, human and angel. Cas' life was literally in his hands, and they both knew it._

 _Dean brought the blade down with a sickening rending sound. Castiel turned his head to look at the weapon, embedded, still quivering, in the stack of books beside him._

" _You and Sam stay the hell away from me," said Dean, stalking out of the room, his tense shoulders like a physical barricade between himself and anything foolish enough to try and touch him. "Next time I won't miss."_

 _Castiel watched him go, his breathing ragged through quickly swelling lips, and for the first time since he had gripped him and raised him from perdition, he believed that Dean Winchester could, and would, kill him._

*****SPN*****

Dean shook his head angrily. The son of a bitch was gone; Dean had seen to that. He had had enough of the angel coming and going like a damn yo-yo and had told him as much when he had called after the Mark had been removed and something worse than Hell broke loose.

" _Where the hell are you, Cas?" Dean snapped into his phone, not at all in the mood for pleasantries._

" _I'm okay," came Cas' voice from the other end of the line, not sounding very okay. Damn angel never gave a straight answer; why would now be any different?_

" _Dammit, Cas, where_ are _you?"_

" _Just please tell Sam, Rowena escaped with the Book of the Damned and the Codex," continued Cas, as though Dead hadn't spoken._

" _I'm not your messenger boy, Cas," said Dean angrily. "Next time you want to talk to Sam, you call his phone."_

" _Dean—"_

" _No, Cas, I'm sick of this. I'm sick of your cryptic-ass angel talk, I'm sick of your manipulation and your deceit, I'm sick of you going behind my back with Crowley, and with Rowena. With my own brother! And I am so fuckin' sick of your damned disappearing acts. So you tell me where you are, or so help me—"_

" _Dean!" The word was like a slap. "The Mark. Is it gone?"_

" _Yes," snapped Dean. "It's gone. Whoopie. Congratulations. You happy?"_

" _No," came the angel's voice finally, the tone tight and clipped. "I am far from happy. I have killed for you, lied for you, risked my life for you, literally died for you. I fell for you, choosing your sorry ass over the entirety of Heaven, and you think I am going to come and go at your beck and call like a goddamn guard dog? No, Dean, I am not fucking_ happy _."_

 _The tension was so thick that Sam could feel it. The baby fussed in Jenna's arms and the girl bent to quiet her._

" _Cas," said Sam loudly, breaking the silence. "What can you tell us about the Darkness?"_

 _Now Cas' voice was confused. "Why would I tell you about the Darkness?"_

" _Because it's free," said Sam, taking the phone from Dean and putting Cas on speaker._

 _Another long silence, then, "No, that can't be."_

" _Yes, because you saying it can't be makes everything all hunky-dory again."_

" _Dean, enough! Removing the Mark opened some kind of lock," Sam continued into the phone. "Dean saw her."_

" _The Darkness is a woman?" said Cas, an undecipherable emotion creeping into his already many layered voice._

" _That's what we're asking you," said Sam. "We don't know what she—or it—is. We were hoping you might know more."_

" _We don't need his help," snapped Dean, grabbing the phone back from his brother. "If he even knows anything useful, and is willing to tell us, both of which I doubt."_

" _Dean, knock it off!"_

 _But Castiel wasn't paying attention to the brothers' scuffle over the cellphone. Something had moved in the trees behind him and as he turned his head, his eye caught the glint of moonlight off an Angel Blade._

" _Sam, Dean," he cut in, his voice urgent enough to cause the Winchesters to pause. "Goodbye. It may be some time before we see one another again."_

 _As he went to disconnect the call, he heard Dean's voice slice across the distance between them like a knife. "Make that forever, Cas." Then the line went dead and Cas turned around to face the two angels behind him, both of whom were looking at Castiel as though Christmas dinner had come early, and he was the main course._

*****SPN*****

Dean hadn't heard from Cas since then. Not that he had expected to, he told himself. He had made it clear that he didn't want to see that angel again, and he stood by that. It was better this way. He knew Sam had tried praying to Castiel a couple times, with no result, but Dean hadn't, and he had no intention of doing so. Or of admitting that part of the reason for that was that he was afraid that Cas' wouldn't respond to him either.

Dean shuffled down the hall to the bathroom to take a piss, the real reason he had woken up anyway, and then climbed back into his bed, resolutely, and somewhat forcefully, shutting off the light.

*****SPN*****

" _Thank you,"_

" _Don't thank me yet."_

 _Hannah unchained Castiel's wrists and brought him a chair, which he sank into gratefully._

" _I'm not lying about Metatron."_

 _Hannah nodded. "I know. Can you tell me anything about the disturbance in Superior Nebraska?"_

" _You know about that?"_

" _Alarms have been sounding in Heaven, Castiel. Alarms that haven't gone off in…ever. We don't even know what they mean."_

 _Castiel couldn't meet Hannah's eyes. "Those alarms are for the Darkness," he said, feeling a stab of guilt at the expression of shocked confusion that appeared on Hannah's face._

" _The Darkness is a story."_

" _No," Cas seemed to be saying that a lot lately, "it's not."_

 _Hannah listened to the rest of Castiel's explanation in mounting horror. "God help us."_

 _If the situation hadn't been so dire, Castiel could have laughed. "I wouldn't count on that."_

 _Hannah seemed to have come to some kind of decision. "Where is it?"_

" _I don't know," said Cas honestly._

" _Then who would?" demanded Hannah. "The Winchesters?" she continued. "Castiel, if this is true, then it's the end, for all of us. Sam. And Dean." Cas couldn't tell whether or not he was imagining the slight stress Hannah put on Dean's name. "Where are they?"_

" _I don't know," said Cas, only half a lie._

" _Then think harder!"_

 _Cas narrowed his eyes. "How did you find me?" he asked slowly._

" _I saved you," said Hannah, after a beat of silence, but his hesitation was all the answer Castiel needed._

" _No, I don't think you did," he said, the pieces of the puzzle coming together in his head. "I think that you told Ephram and Jonah to bring me here, and to hurt me, and so you arranged to burst in and save me." Castiel gave the angel he had considered his friend a look of utter contempt. "You were hoping that I would be so grateful that I would do anything. You said that I would tell you anything that you wanted to know." Grief stabbed at Cas' heart for what Hannah had done, and for the fact that the other angel probably didn't even have the capacity to fully comprehend the betrayal herself. But he still had to ask, "Why Hannah? We were friends."_

" _That was before you freed Metatron," said Hannah simply, as if that explained everything, as if one action could wipe out an entire friendship as easily as erasing a chalkboard. "Before…" he left the rest of the thought unfinished. "The other angels, they hate you."_

" _And what about you?" asked Cas, thinking of the other former friend he would probably never get the chance to ask this question, and realizing that he wanted that answer even less than he wanted this one. "Do you hate me?"_

 _Something flickered in the depths of Hannah's eyes then, but before she could respond, Ephram's voice cut across the silence._

" _It doesn't matter. We took a vote. Democracy in action. And Hannah's doing the job."_

 _That didn't sound like democracy to Cas; it sounded like a punishment._

" _I won't give you Sam and Dean," said Castiel, chin held high and eyes blazing._

" _Yes, you will."_

 **AN: I know, I know, you knew all that already! Well, apart from Dean & Cas having a major blowout. But the things that were changed and highlighted here were important. Plus, writing those scenes in narrative form was a really cool writing exercise. Especially the Dean and Cas fight scene. Also, I did slip in a kind of nod to the attack dog spell in one of Cas' lines, if you caught that.**

 **To clarify, I am by no means new to the** _ **Supernatural**_ **fandom, just to** _ **Supernatural**_ **fanfiction. I did also attend my first convention this year. It was awesome. I cosplayed as Claire, complete with a kick ass angel sword my brother made me, which Misha also thought was cool, which kind of made my day.**

 **If you are here because you follow me, thank you, welcome back and I hope you enjoy this story as much as the others, and, I can hope, even notice the improvement in my writing over the last few years. If you've just stumbled upon my story in your hunt for new** _ **Supernatural**_ **fanfiction to read, welcome, I hope you have found what you're looking for and, if your other fandoms happen to include** _ **Harry Potter**_ **,** _ **Artemis Fowl**_ **, or** _ **Glee**_ **, feel free to check out my other stories, with the knowledge that all of them save the other one I just recently posted were at least started when I was 17/18 years old.**

 **If you are familiar with my previous work, you may have noticed that this is my first M rated fic. While not a hard and fast rule, I've found that I tend to go about one rating up from the source material with my fanfiction.** _ **Supernatural**_ **is already pretty up there in terms of adult content, so it makes sense for me to rate this story M, so that I can have the full range of options of where to go with it.**

 **No matter if you're an old friend or a new face (or avatar I guess, haha), I look forward to hearing from you about my first foray into writing for a "new" fandom in five years.**

 **-SQ**


	2. Chapter 1: A Winged Messenger

**Author's Note: As I post this chapter, the US, especially our LGBTQ+ and Latinx communities, are still reeling from the shooting at Pulse Nightclub in Orlando, Florida. My LGBTQ+, Latinx, and people of color SPN Family members, I am sorrier than I can express that you cannot feel safe, cannot feel like human beings, in your own country. That you must fear not only for your dignity, but for your lives, even in your own safe spaces and places of refuge. I am angry that my queer, Muslim friends are having their own identities pitted against each other. I am sickened that this is still happening in 2016. I mourn with you and I will fight with you, love with you, and live with you. Not just today or this week or this month, but every day. We are the Supernatural Family. We are Fandom. We are Human. All of us. And Love is Love.**

 **May you all have an angel of your shoulder when you most need one, and be someone else's angel in their time of need.**

 **You are not alone.**

 **-SQ**

 **Disclaimer: Supernatural began in 2005. In 2005 I was 12, and you don't want to read the things I was writing then, believe me**

 **Chapter One: A Winged Messenger**

"Anything yet?"

Sam shook his head. "Nothing that points to any more people running around without their souls."

"And no more Lizzie Borden sightings?"

"None of those either. We don't even know what Amara looks like anymore. She could have gotten older again since the last time we saw her."

"Man, that's just weird," said Dean. "I miss good old fashioned monsters."

"We'll find her, Dean. She can't hide forever."

Dean though of the woman he had seen back in Superior, and the veiled promise she had seemed to make him. "Yeah, I know. It's the part that comes after I'm worried about."

Sam pushed his computer away, blinking to focus his tired eyes. "Any word from Crowley?"

"Nada. Rowena?"

"Radio silence," said Sam.

Dean huffed. "Typical."

"Have you tried contacting—" Sam started hesitantly.

"We're out of beer." said Dean loudly, slamming the refrigerator door shut. "I'm gonna make a run to the store, need anything?"

Sam sighed. "A beer sounds good, yeah. And pick up some dinner while you're out."

"Will do."

*****SPN*****

The Darkness may have been loosed upon the world, but at least they still had burgers and beer, thought Dean as he placed the takeout bag and the six pack in the passenger seat of his Baby.

"Dean Winchester."

Dean turned around and nearly jumped. Scant inches from him was a small, dark man, who was looking at him with an intense expression that gave him the creeps.

"Jesus."

"No," said the man, sounding slightly confused. "Hannah."

Dean quirked an eyebrow. "Nice name."

The joke obviously went over the man's head. "Castiel is in trouble."

Dean felt as though about 500 volts of electricity had been shot through him. "What do you mean, in trouble?" he demanded. "What kind of trouble? Where is he?"

"The situation is...urgent," said Hannah, who Dean now remembered as one of Cas' little angel friends, though the last time he'd seen her she'd been wearing a chick. "It took me longer than desirable for me to find you." He sounded annoyed.

"What situation?" growled Dean. "Where. Is. Cas?"

Hannah shook his head. "I can't tell you. I shouldn't even be here."

The angel, who had been making moves to leave, suddenly found herself hoisted up by her collar. "Now you listen here, you son of a bitch, you don't come waltzing your feathery ass down here telling me Cas is in trouble and then not tell me where he is."

Hannah's vessel's Adam's apple bobbed, but his eyes flashed with righteous anger and, unless Dean was mistaken, a hint of bitter satisfaction, as though Hannah had just had an unpleasant theory confirmed. "He's in Seattle, I can't tell you any more than that, I'm sorry." And with that she vanished.

"Son of a bitch!" said Dean, finding himself clutching empty air. "Why do I always have to clean up your messes?" And whether he was talking specifically to Castiel or to angels in general was anyone's guess.

*****SPN*****

Dean slammed the front door of the bunker so hard that Sam's mug of tea (and really, Sam, tea?) fell off the table and shattered, earning Dean a reproachful look.

"Cas is in trouble."

Sam raised his eyebrows. "So you're acknowledging his existence again?"

Dean glared at his brother. "It's not funny, Sam. Cas' angel girlfriend, that Hannah chick, only this time she was a dude, just flew in to tell me Cas is in trouble in Seattle, and apparently 'the situation is urgent,'" he said, doing his best angel impression and placing air quotes around the phrase.

"Whoa, slow down," said Sam, standing up, broken mug forgotten. "What else did she tell you?"

"Nothing! The son of a bitch pulled a fast one before I could get anything else out of him."

"Well," said Sam after a beat of tense silence, "I guess we're going to Seattle."

"Damn straight we are," said Dean. "Get your raincoat, dinner's waiting in the car."

*****SPN*****

Just over twenty-six hours later, the Impala skidded into a parking spot near a seedy looking motel a ways north of downtown Seattle, Dean and Sam having driven through the night to get there.

"Seriously!" said Dean, climbing out of the car and slamming the driver's side door. "There is nowhere to park in this city!"

"It is the fastest growing city in America," said Sam.

The look Dean gave him was a pretty good imitation of his own bitch face. "And apparently the one with the most traffic." Dean turned his glare on the cars going by down the main drag. "How are we supposed to find Cas in this shitshow?"

"I kinda like it," said Sam. "Though I could do without the giant weed billboards."

"At least there's one redeeming feature."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Dean, you don't even smoke."

"Who knows, I might; it's legal here. Cas would probably like it."

Sam gave him a funny look.

"Nevermind," said Dean. Then, "Dammit, where is he?"

Sam ran a hand through his hair. "I dunno, Dean, we don't have much to go on."

"Well then, let's _find_ something!" Dean stalked into the motel, Sam following behind.

The girl behind the desk looked Dean up and down as she ran his fake credit card to pay for the room.

"Hello, Mr." she squinted at his ID, "Hendrix. Will there be ladies joining you two Johns, or are you the whole party?"

"There is no party," said Dean, as Sam sniggered. "My _brother_ and I just need a room for the night. To _sleep_ in."

As Dean collected the room key and restowed his wallet, the girl leaned over the desk and slipped a card into Sam's jacket pocket. "In case you change your mind."

*****SPN*****

When they got up to the room, Sam pulled out the card and turned it over.

"Peachy Paradise," he read aloud. "Personal, Private Pleasure. That's a lot Ps."

"You can pleasure your P after we find Cas," said Dean. "Right now you hit the computer, see what you can dig up. I'm gonna go see if any of the locals have noticed anything out of the ordinary."

"How come you get to have all the fun and I have to stay cooped up here in the motel?" Sam complained.

"Because that's what you do," said Dean. "I'm the agent, you're the squint."

"I'm the _what_?"

"Man, you need to watch more TV."

*****SPN*****

"Any luck?" asked Sam, when Dean returned to the motel several hours later.

"Loads, if we were looking for Sasquatch," said Dean, pulling a beer out of the fridge and straddling the free chair, "but zilch on angels."

Sam gave Dean a reproachful look. "Dean, you were just at the bar."

"Yeah, well, I need another one." He took a long swallow. "How about you? Did you find anything?"

"Yes and no," said Sam, turning back to his laptop. "I didn't find any mention of angelic disturbances, but if Cas is being kept hidden somewhere in Seattle, I have a pretty good idea of where that might be. Take a look."

Dean scooted his chair closer to the computer. "What's that?" he asked Sam, using the hand not holding his beer to gesture toward the webpage his brother had pulled up on the screen. "Bill Speidel's World Famous Underground Tour? Sounds like a tourist trap if I ever saw one."

"It's one of Seattle's main tourist attractions," confirmed Sam. "There's actually some interesting history attached to it. Apparently the entire city burnt to the ground in 1889, and what's here now was all built on top of it. This company offers guided tours through certain sections of the old Seattle, but I'm betting there's a lot more down there than even most of the locals know about."

"Sounds like a good start," said Dean, standing up and tossing his beer bottle in the trash.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," said Sam. "Hold on. First of all, this is Seattle, recycle that. Second, it's the middle of the night and you've barely slept in two days. Neither of us has. I for one want to get some shut eye before we go digging around in the bowels of old Seattle." When Dean opened his mouth to protest, Sam continued, "Besides, it's going to be a lot easier to wait until morning, buy a couple of tour tickets, and then slip away from the group than to find a way down there on our own in the middle of the night. How well do _you_ know Seattle?"

Dean glared at his brother, but had to admit that he had a point. "First thing in the morning, then," said Dean, tossing his jacket on the back of the chair and stalking to the bathroom.

"Tours start at nine am!" Sam called after him.

*****SPN*****

At eight forty-five the next morning, Sam and Dean were huddled under a dripping awning outside Doc Maynard's Public House with four stubbornly chipper Japanese tourists who were busily snapping pictures of the surrounding, rain-drenched square.

At eight fifty-seven, a middle-aged man in a blue rain slicker jogged up to them. "Sorry I'm running late, construction on 99," he said, as though that explained everything. "Everyone ready to go?"

The group collectively nodded, the guide collected their tickets, and they set off through the persistent drizzle.

Sam felt a little sorry for the tour guide, who was animatedly narrating the history of Seattle to the raindrops. The Japanese tourists seemed to be too busy taking selfies and talking amongst themselves in Japanese to possibly be absorbing any of the information being conveyed to them in English. As for Sam and Dean, they had more pressing concerns on their minds than the history of modern plumbing. Though Dean couldn't suppress a snort about Thomas and his Crapper.

"I wish the group was bigger," Dean groused, eyeing the four diminutive twenty-somethings in the tunnel in front of them. "And taller."

"It's ten o'clock on a rainy Thursday morning in September," said Sam. "What did you expect?"

"I dunno, don't they take school groups to these kinds of things sometimes?"

"Yeah, because we wouldn't stick out there at all."

"Oh shut up."

*****SPN*****

About halfway through the tour, the boys finally got their opportunity to slip away from the group. When the guide and the tourists turned left, Sam and Dean veered right, ignoring the plywood barrier and the "Do Not Enter" sign, and found themselves in a much darker, danker, and obviously unfrequented part of underground Seattle.

"What exactly are we looking for?" asked Sam, pulling out his flashlight and squinting into the shadows.

"Anything angelic or weird," said Dean. "Or a sign saying, 'Castiel, Angel of the Lord, this way."

Sam snorted. "Well, if someone is keeping Cas here, or if he's hiding from someone, he's likely to be as far from the tour route as possible."

Dean grunted his agreement and led the way deeper into the tunnels.

They saw nothing out of the ordinary for over an hour. Dean grew more and more frustrated with each fruitless corner they turned. They were about to turn back from yet another dead end when Sam held up a hand, then, realizing that his brother couldn't see him in the darkness, called out, "Dean, wait. I think I found something."

Dean spun back around and squinted together with Sam at the seemingly solid dirt wall.

"This is Enochian," he breathed.

Sam nodded. "It's so faint I almost missed it."

"Do you think we can dig through here without bringing a crapload of dirt down on our heads?"

"There's one way to find out."

*****SPN*****

The dirt did come down on their heads, but there was significantly less of it than they had expected. When the dust cleared, they found themselves staring down another long tunnel. Sam and Dean looked at each other. Neither of them said anything, neither of them had to; they could both hear the indistinct but unmistakable sound of voices coming from the far end of the tunnel.

Silently, Dean jerked his head. Sam nodded in agreement and both Winchesters set off in the direction of the sound.

"He's not going to tell you anything. I don't think he's _capable_ of telling you anything anymore."

"That's Hannah," Dean mouthed to Sam.

"And it's obvious no one's going to come for him," the voice that belonged to Hannah continued. "So why keep doing this? What's the point?"

"As an example," said a second voice. "And because he deserves it."

The voices faded. It seemed that their owners had exited whatever room lay at the end of the tunnel.

Sam and Dean rounded the corner and stepped into what was unmistakably a torture chamber. A chill went up Dean's spine.

"Cas?"

There was no answer. Dean crossed the room and bent to examine a nasty looking contraption that looked unsettling like a hat that screwed directly into your skull. It appeared to be broken. There was a creak outside the door; the room's former occupants were returning.

"Dean!" hissed Sam, pulling his brother behind a broken table that was propped up against the wall.

The door at the other end of the room opened and two men entered, dragging something between them. One of the men stopped to shut the door while his partner maneuvered the object, or rather the figure, for that's what it was, into a chair. This was made difficult by something long and dark (a cloak?) extending from the figure's shoulders all the way to the ground.

The door secure, the first man grabbed the black material and stretched it out from his captive's back, pinning both ends to the wall behind the chair. The seated person flinched and moaned as the pins went in, straining away from the restraints that bound him to his seat.

"Dean" Sam breathed in a horrified whisper, "they're _wings_."

Dean's stomach dropped to the floor. He felt like he was going to throw up. Wings. No. _No._

Dean didn't realize he'd spoken the word aloud until the two men turned toward the table concealing Sam and himself from view.

"Who's there?"

Knowing they had about half a second before they lost the element of surprise, Sam launched himself out from behind the table, straight at the man who had bound the winged, trenchcoated being to the chair. Dean was right behind him, a projectile of single-minded fury aimed at the sadistic bastard who had just pinned the captive angel's wings to the wall.

Sam's target stumbled back as six feet, four inches of battle-ready hunter slammed into him. The two men went down, rolling head over heels on the dirt floor. The other man was surprisingly strong for his size and Sam found himself at least evenly matched, even with size and surprise in his favor.

Dean's opponent had had a fraction of a second more time to brace himself for the impact, and Dean found his knife locked hilt to hilt with an angel blade.

"Sam," he grunted, "a little help here!"

"Sorry, got my hands full!" panted Sam, trying and failing to pin his own opponent to the ground.

"The Winchesters," sneered the angel currently locked in combat with Dean. "A little late to the party, aren't you?"

"Fuck you, you son of a bitch," said Dean, aiming a punch at the angel's smirking face.

"Ah, ah, ah," said the sadistic douchebag, taking a step back and wagging an infuriating finger in front of Dean's nose. He lifted his hand, intending to smite Dean, but was distracted by something behind the hunter.

Dean risked a glance over his shoulder and saw the angel Hannah standing in the doorway, taking in the scene.

"Hannah, help me," said Dean.

"Hannah, finish him!" shouted Sadistic Douchebag.

Hannah hesitated.

Dean took the opportunity presented by his opponent's momentary lapse of attention to wrench the angel's arm behind his back, bringing his knife to the man's throat. At least that was his intention. He miscalculated the angle, however, and received an elbow to the gut that left him doubled over, gasping for breath. He looked up in time to see an angel blade descending toward him, just like he had once born down on Castiel with his own weapon. Then suddenly Hannah was between them.

"Get Castiel," she said, as the blade pierced her body.

Dean shielded his eyes against the blaze of light, and when his vision cleared, all that was left of Hannah, angel of the Lord, was an empty vessel and vast, black wing prints charred into the ground at his feet.

Hannah's killer spat casually on her body. "What a waste." He looked up at Dean, his expression almost bored. "I'm still going to kill you, of course."

"I don't think so," said Sam from behind him, and sheathed his own dispatched adversary's angel blade between his comrade's shoulders.

"Thanks," said Dean, wiping blood from his cheek.

"Don't mention it."

Dean looked toward the figure in the chair and for a moment the sight of the black wings stretched out to either side froze his blood in his veins, before he remembered that they were real and not the charred remains of a snuffed out Grace.

Dean practically ran across the room to the humanoid form secured to the chair. The angel was in bad shape. His face was a mass of cuts and bruises, his clothes stained, ripped, and burned in several dozen places. And while Dean was no expert, he was pretty sure Castiel's wings weren't even supposed to be visible, let alone hanging from the wall in that twisted manner. _The wall, shit!_ Dean hurriedly withdrew the pins fastening Castiel's wings to the wall like a giant, grotesque butterfly. The angel groaned and Dean dropped to his knees in front of him, taking his friend's lacerated face between his shaking hands.

"Cas?" he said, his voice breaking. "Cas, buddy, it's me. Dammit, what did those bastards do to you?"

Castiel gritted his teeth and blinked, as though trying to bring Dean's face into focus. He dragged his tongue over his parched lips, summonsing enough moisture for one, gut-wrenching syllable.

"Dean."

 **AN: Thank you so much for reading this. I know you are; I can see it in my stats. I'm not sure how the Supernatural Fandom is as far as reviews go, I know every fandom s different and this one is busy doing so many wonderful things, but one of my favorite parts of writing fanfiction is connecting with my readers. Love to hear from you, to talk to you, especially in a fandom such as this, where we are so much more than people who happen to like the same TV show. So please, if you can spare a minute, shoot me a review and let me know what you think.**

 **-SQ**


	3. Chapter 2: Rescue

**Authors' Note: The Sap Police Approves! After a few edits, lol. So here is the next chapter. With actual Cas and Dean interaction, lol. This chapter is pretty long, but it wasn't long enough to split into two chapters, so long it stays. I'm pretty pleased with how this story is turning out and I would immensely appreciate some input from you lovely readers. Huge shout-out to Jawn Lennon Aid for being my first and only reviewer so far. Thank you!**

 **-SQ**

 **Disclaimer: I don't even own the show in DVD or BlueRay. I do, however, have Netflix, which is how I plan to introduce my best friend to the show when I see her tomorrow!**

 **Chapter Two: Rescue**

Castiel didn't know what time it was, or even what day. He had lost all sense of the passage of time, his only units of measure being periods of less pain and periods of more pain. His Grace had long since drained away to mere trickle that was barely enough to keep him alive. He wished it wasn't. His only consolation was that Ephram had been unable to figure out how to work the lobotomizing machine properly and had, in a moment of frustration, thrown the thing across the room, irreparably damaging it. So Sam and Dean were safe. That almost made the torture bearable, knowing that at least, in the end, he had not betrayed his friends. He saw them sometimes, in memories and fantasies. Delusions brought on by Ephram and Jonah's taunts and accusations. The first couple times, he had thought they were real, that they had come to save him, but then he realized how ludicrous that idea was. Both of a human saving an angel, and of Dean saving him, even if he had known where to look. If he had cared to look at all. So at least they were safe. And he got to see Dean's face, even if it was the product of his own pain-crazed imagination.

This hallucination started out much like all the others. Sam and Dean weren't there, and then suddenly they were, appearing out of nowhere, as people in dreams are wont to do. Castiel watched the struggle through swollen, slited eyes, wondering vaguely what, in reality, was happening to his body and his remaining sliver of angelic Grace, and realizing that he no longer cared. Even as one part of his brain knew that the action playing out in front of him was not real, another part hoped that in the confusion, one of his brothers' angel blades would go astray and end his pathetic excuse for an existence.

When the dust settled, however, Castiel found himself still alive, as evidenced by the agonizing pain still radiating through his battered wings. Suddenly this pain surged and then eased, as the feathery appendages were released from the pins that held them to the earthen wall. Castiel became aware of a voice saying his name. No, not his name; the voice was calling him by his nickname. _Dean's_ nickname for him.

There were hands on his face; rough, callused, human, and real. He blinked, bringing the form in front of him into semi-focus. He blinked again, but the vision didn't disappear. The hands cradling his face didn't dissolve into nothingness or the sharp cut of a blade.

"Cas, buddy, it's me."

Castiel tried to speak, but his mouth felt as though it was full of cotton balls. He swallowed thickly. If he was wrong, if his mind was playing tricks on him again, then he was in for a world of punishment. Better just to keep silent. But he found his mouth forming the name of its own volition, as though his vessel's lips were no longer under his control.

"Dean," he rasped, and waited for the inevitable blow. But it ever came. Instead, shaking fingers fumbled at the bonds securing him to the chair, and then strong, gentle arms gathered him against a warm, solid chest. The pain of the movement was excruciating, but everything was excruciating these days. He let out a muffled sound of pain.

"I've got you, Cas," Dean murmured into his ear, or what was left of it; it looked like it had been put through a paper shredder. "I'm here, I've got you."

"Dean."

Dean's breath caught and he swallowed thickly around the lump in his throat. This was neither the time nor the place for a chick flick moment. "Yeah, it's me. We're gonna get you outta here. We're gonna take you home."

"Dean," said Sam urgently. "We've got to get out of here. I doubt those three were alone."

Dean nodded. "I'm gonna have to carry Cas. He's in no shape to stand on his own, let alone walk back through that maze."

"Jesus Christ," said Sam, getting a good look at their angelic friend for the first time. "What the hell did they do to him?"

Dean shook his head helplessly. "I dunno, but whatever it was, it messed him up bad. How bad, I won't know until we get him back to safety and I can look at him properly." Dean gritted his teeth. Death had been too good for the dickbags who had done this to Cas. "You think you can find the way back?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah, I think so. But, uh, how're we going to get him back to the motel without attracting attention?" He looked pointedly at Cas' very visible wings.

Dean ran a finger over the soft, black feathers. "Just start walking. I'll think of something."

*****SPN*****

They were about halfway back to where they had veered off from the tour route when Dean said, "Stop."

Sam stopped and turned around. "Is everything okay? Is Cas…?"

Dean glared at his brother. "Does he _look_ okay? No, I have an idea, but you're not going to like it."

Sam raised an eyebrow as if to say, _Is there anything to like about this day so far_? "What's your idea?"

"Crowley."

" _Crowley?"_

"If you have a better idea of how to get halfway across Seattle in the middle of the day, carrying a semi-conscious angel with a twenty-foot wingspan, I'm all ears."

Sam sighed and made a bitch-face, but didn't offer a more palatable alternative. Since Dean's hands were occupied, Sam pulled out his cell phone and dialed the demon's number.

He answered on the third ring. "Moose. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Sam put him on speaker. "We need a favor."

The King of Hell sighed dramatically. "It's never just a social call with you boys, is it?"

"Crowley," growled Dean, "the other angels got Cas. He's in bad shape."

"And what does this have to do with me?" said Crowley in a bored voice.

"We need you to zap us back to our motel room," said Dean.

"Do I look like a taxi service to you?"

"We need to keep Cas out of sight," said Dean.

"That bad, huh? Need I remind you that the last time I saw your brother and your little lover boy there, they tried to kill me? Doesn't exactly inspire confidence or a humanitarian spirit."

"We won't lay a finger on you," promised Dean. "You won't even have to deal with Sam, just me and Cas."

"What do you mean, he won't have to deal with me?" said Sam.

Dean managed to maneuver Cas so enable him to reach into his pocket and flip his brother his car keys. "Someone's gotta drive my baby."

*****SPN*****

Crowley refused to show until Sam had gone for the car; more to be obstinate than out of any real concern for his own safety, Dean was sure. When the demon did appear, he looked around him with an expression of distaste.

"Cheery place for a reunion." He sniffed the air delicately and wrinkled his nose. "Is that au de toilet bowl, I smell?"

"Come on," growled Dean, adjusting his hold on the angel in his arms. "Let's get this over with."

"Is that the angel?" asked Crowley, peering at the tan and black form. Then he caught sign of the Cas' wings. "Bloody hell."

"Yeah," said Dean. "Any idea what it means? That we can see them?"

Crowley shook his head. "I've never seen anything like it before, but it can't be good."

"No shit, Sherlock."

"If you're going to give me attitude, I can leave," said Crowley, lifting his hand to snap himself away.

"Fine. Just take us to our motel and then you can get back to whatever it is you do all day."

"What's the magic word?"

Dean gritted his teeth. _"Please."_

"Well, since you asked so nicely." Crowley grabbed Dean's elbow and snapped his fingers.

The jolt nearly made Dean drop Cas. He tightened his grip instinctively and the angel cried out in pain.

"Sorry, buddy," he muttered, regaining his footing in the dingy motel room. He eased Cas into one of the beds and looked around for Crowley, but apparently the demon had decided not to stick around for the after party.

"Son of a bitch," Dean muttered. He knew Crowley's favors didn't come free, and he would rather have known what he owed the King of Hell for the demonic taxi ride. But that would have to be a problem for another day.

Dean turned his attention to Castiel. The angel did not look good. There was barely an inch of skin left undamaged and the sight turned Dean's stomach.

"Cas?" said Dean. "Hey, man, can you hear me?"

Cas swallowed, his throat feeling like sandpaper, and turned his head in the direction of Dean's voice.

"Hey," said Dean, "you are awake. Though I guess maybe you wish you weren't, huh?"

Castiel stared at Dean, his eyes glassy. He wanted to say something, but he wasn't sure his voice remembered how to do anything but scream.

Uncomfortable under the intensity of Cas' stare, Dean busied himself with the first aid supplies. "This isn't going to be pleasant," he said, turning back to the angel, "but we gotta get you cleaned up."

Cas' clothing was in tatters, but unfortunately, much of the fabric was stuck, and in some places even burned, to his broken skin. Dean could only imagine the infection brewing underneath. A suspicion which was heightened when he placed a hand on Cas' forehead and found it burning hot.

Cas shrank from Dean's touch, and Dean thought he had hurt the angel, until he saw the look of terror in Castiel's eyes.

"It's okay," he said, though obviously it was anything but okay. "It's gonna hurt, there's nothing I can do about that." He was uncomfortably aware of the circumstances under which he had last laid a hand on Cas. "But I swear, I'm here to help you."

Cas tried to keep him mind fixed on the fact that it was Dean's hands on him, he did, but the flashbacks came anyway, and he bit down on the pillow in order to keep silent, knowing that screaming would only make the torture worse.

Dimly, after an undefinable eternity, he realized that the pain had lessened and a cool cloth was being pressed to his forehead. Cautiously, he opened his eyes. Dean's own strained face looked back at him.

"Cas?" said Dean. "You there?" Cas nodded. "The worst of it's over for now," said Dean. "Try to get some rest."

He stood to leave, but Cas' hand caught his wrist, pulling him back. Cas shook his head.

"Do you, um, want me to stay with you?" asked Dean. Cas didn't respond, but after a moment of hesitation, Dean sat down on the edge of the bed, careful to avoid the angel's damaged wings. His knee just touched Castiel's arm where it had fallen on the bed when he had released Dean's wrist. "Is this okay?"

Cas nodded again, his eyelids drifting closed, and soon he slipped into a fitful, feverish sleep.

Dean watched Cas sleep, as the angel had watched him in the past. His own words about it being creepy echoed in Dean's mind, but he couldn't seem to bring himself to look away. The muscles in the sleeping man's face twitched with troubled dreams. Dean had the sudden urge to reach out and smooth the lines from Castiel's brow, but he resisted. There were too many things, said and unsaid, between them for casual gestures of intimacy.

The door to the motel room opened and Dean looked up, placing a finger on his lips.

Sam nodded, shutting the door quietly behind him, and whispered, "How is he?"

"Nothing's too deep," said Dean, "it never is," he added bitterly. "But some of them are infected, and at least one rib's broken. It looks like his left wrist was broken at some point too, and it set badly. I'll have to re-break it."

"And his wings?"

Dean shook his head. "I don't know, man, this shit's way outside my paygrade."

"What did Crowley say? Anything useful?"

Dean snorted. "Said he hadn't seen anything like it either, and he didn't stick around to make small talk." Dean ran a hand over his face, his shoulders drooping in exhaustion.

"Dean," said Sam, "you should get some rest.

Dean shook his head. "I can't. I gotta stay with him."

"Dean, it's not your fault."

"Oh yeah?" challenged Dean. "How do you figure that? Because where I'm standing, it sure as hell looks like he wouldn't have spent the last month being tortured if I hadn't had my head so far up my ass that—"

" _Dean._ Blaming yourself isn't going to help anything. You and Cas had a fight. People fight, it happens. It's not the reason the other angels found and tortured him."

"Yeah, but it's the reason I didn't go looking for him until now."

"I didn't either," said Sam. "By that logic it's as much my fault as yours. More, even; I wasn't pissed off at the guy."

"It's not the same," said Dean.

"What? What's not the same? I care about Cas too, you know."

"Not like—" Dean cut himself off. "I'm not going to argue about this. We'll wake Cas."

Sam gave his brother a searching look, but didn't comment further. "You know, if you stay up with him all night, I'm driving tomorrow."

*****SPN*****

Sam didn't end up driving the next day, or the day after that. At least not any farther than the nearest takeout joint. Castiel slept for forty-eight hours straight. The brothers managed to get him to swallow some water and some pain medication, and to maneuver a pair of Dean's pajama pants onto him, though they couldn't figure out how to get a shirt over the angel's wings. But apart from the convulsive shivering that wracked his body at sporadic intervals, the angel was so pale and still that Dean had to check several times to make sure that he was still breathing.

It was the evening of the third day when Cas finally opened his eyes. His first feeling was that of disorientation and confusion. He tried to sit up, but fell back onto the pillows with a gasp of pain. A moment later, Dean entered his field of vision, an almost comical expression of concern and relief on his face.

"Morning, Sleeping Beauty. How are you feeling?"

"Thirsty," rasped Cas. "Dean, where are we?"

"The Klose In Motel off Highway 99 in Seattle," answered Dean.

"Seattle," answered Cas, his brow furrowing. "That is very far from Kansas."

"No kidding," said Dean. "You had to go and get yourself kidnapped to the other side of the country."

"I'm sorry, Dean," mumbled Cas. "I'm sure this has been very inconvenient for you."

"What the fuck?" said Dean angrily. Cas winced and Dean softened his voice. "It was a joke, man. No one blames you for what happened back there." Cas gave him a disbelieving look. "Those dicks don't count." Cas shrugged, rippling his damaged wings, and winced again.

"You said you were thirsty. Would you like some water?"

"That would be nice, yes."

Dean brought a plastic cup of water over from the bathroom, then realized that Cas wouldn't be able to drink it lying down. He set the cup down on the nightstand.

"Here, let me help you sit up. Arm around my shoulders. On, two, three!"

Dean lifted Cas into a semi-seated position against the pillows, doing his best not to crush his wings against the headboard of the bed. Cas groaned, clutching at Dean's jacket for support.

"You okay, Cas?"

The angel nodded, too winded from the effort to speak.

Dean withdrew his arm from Cas' back and handed him the plastic cup. The angel's hands shook, but he managed to drink the water unassisted. Then he looked up at Dean, who was hovering over him.

"Can I help you, Dean?"

"Sorry," said Dean, hurriedly taking a step back and feeling as though their roles had been suddenly reversed. "Is there anything else I can get you? Sammy should be back soon with something to eat."

At the mention of food, Castiel's stomach growled. Dean chuckled and even Cas' expression softened.

"It seems like 'something to eat,' is a good idea," said the angel.

Several minutes later, Sam backed through the door, his hands full of takeout bags emblazoned with the word "Dick's."

"Seriously?"

Sam dropped one of the bags in Dean's lap. "The guy at the gas station said they're the best burgers in town. Hey, Cas, it's good to see you awake."

"Hello, Sam. Thank you," said Cas, accepting the paper bag the younger Winchester offered him. The smell wafting from it was mouthwatering. Cas' stomach growled again.

"Dig in," said Dean. "You must be starved.

"Literally," said Cas, and Dean's stomach twisted.

"Well, now you can have as much as you want."

For a while there was no sound apart from the three of them chewing. The burger _was_ good. Of course, almost anything would have tasted good to Cas at that point. Under normal circumstances, he didn't have to eat. Of course, under normal circumstances he wouldn't be suffering from broken bones and an infection either. As it was, with his Grace depleted to almost nothing, he was practically human again.

About halfway through his burger, Cas began to drift off against Dean's shoulder.

"Cas?" Dean shook the angel gently. "No, man, come on, you can't sleep there." Sam chuckled and Dean glared at him. "It's not funny, I'm not a pillow." He tried to ease the dozing angel off his shoulder and down onto the bed, but Cas made a sleepy sound of protest and refused to budge.

"Seriously? No. Cas, get _off_." Dean gave Castiel a harder shove and the angel's eyes snapped open, looking startled and disoriented.

"What—? Oh." Cas sat up quickly and moved away, wincing. "I am sorry, Dean, I seem to have fallen asleep. I did not mean to invade your personal space."

Now Dean felt like kind of a dick. "Nah, don't worry about it. Just figured you'd be more comfortable lying down."

Cas nodded and lay down with his back to Dean.

Sam watched his brother and the angel, a latent suspicion resurfacing in his mind. "Dean," he said slowly, "do you—"

"I don't want to talk about it," snapped Dean, picking up Cas' half-eaten burger and stalking to the fridge.

"Okay," said Sam, putting his hands up, "you don't have to talk to me, but I think you should talk to Cas."

"And I think you should shut your cake hole."

*****SPN*****

The lumpy armchair didn't make the most comfortable bed, but that wasn't the only reason Dean was finding it hard to sleep. As much as he hated to admit it, Sam was right; he and Cas were long overdue for a conversation. But how was he supposed to bring it up? He wasn't even sure the two of them were on speaking terms. The last real conversation they had had hadn't exactly gone well. To say nothing of their last in-person encounter. Sure, Dean had probably saved Cas' life, but if it weren't for Dean, his life probably wouldn't have needed saving in the first place. Plus—Dean reached over and felt Cas' forehead again—yep, the guy definitely still had a high fever.

Dean groaned. "This sucks ass."

"Dean?"

"I'm sorry, Cas, did I wake you?"

"No. Why is your hand on my forehead?"

Dean realized quickly snatched back his hand. "I was just checking your temperature."

"It does not seem to be normal," Cas agreed. "I feel very cold."

Dean nodded. "That happens when you have a fever."

"Also when one is not wearing a shirt," observed Cas.

"Yeah, um, sorry about that," said Dean, feeling suddenly awkward. "We didn't know how to put one on you with your wings."

Cas stared at him blankly. "My wings?"

"Yeah, they're uh, pretty impressive." Dean gestured vaguely to the area behind Cas.

The angel looked over his shoulder. "You can see them?"

"Yeah, they're pretty hard to miss."

"They should not be visible on this plane."

"Yeah, I kind of figured that," said Dean. "But I'm not sure what to do about it. They're pretty banged up."

Cas lifted a hand to the dark feathers. "This is not good."

"What do you mean, 'not good'?" asked Dean. "The Impala has a flat tire, 'not good,' or Amara wants to snuff all creation, 'not good'?"

"I am more damaged than I first realized," said Cas.

"But you'll get better, right?"

"It will take some time for my Grace to recover," said Castiel. "I do not wish to be a burden on you and Sam."

"Cas, you're not a burden," said Dean. "You're family."

The angel didn't meet Dean's eyes. "I don't have family."

" _Cas—"_

"Please, let me sleep, Dean,"

Castiel turned back over and closed his eyes, though Dean knew he wasn't asleep.

"Dammit."

*****SPN*****

Sam and Dean woke up to the sound of a large crash, Sam sitting bolt upright in his bed and Dean leaping up from the chair in the direction of his gun. The brothers looked toward the door and saw Cas standing there, clutching the frame for support. One of his wings had knocked the lamp off the bedside table, which was the source of the crash.

"Cas, what the hell?"

"I'm sorry, Dean, Sam. I had intended to be gone before you awoke."

"What do you mean, 'gone?'" said Sam.

"To find a place where I can recover."

"You have a place you can recover," said Dean angrily. "Here. With us. We didn't chase you halfway across the country and a couple stories underground so we could lose you again."

"I appreciate the offer," said Cas stiffly, or maybe his voice was just strained with the effort of staying upright. "But I'm not your charity case."

"Man, you'll die out there!" Dean exploded.

"I have survived on my own as a human before," said Cas.

Dean winced at the barb. "Not in this condition!"

"And humans don't generally have twenty-foot wing spans."

"I'll figure it out," said Cas stubbornly, turning again toward the hallway.

Dean took an involuntary step toward the angel. "Cas, wait!" He forced a calm that he didn't feel into his voice. "Stay. Please."

"Why?"

"Uh, because we want you to. Why not? What's gotten into you, Cas?"

Sam nodded in agreement. "Maybe you can do it on your own, but you don't have to."

"Why?" said Cas again. His back was still to the Winchesters, but they could see his shoulders droop as though in defeat. "I'm useless."

"You're not useless," said Sam.

"And you're not some tool for us to use and throw out when a part gets broken either," said Dean. "Whether you want to admit it or not, you're family."

This time Cas met his eyes with a searching look that turned to surprise. "You mean that."

"Of course I mean it," said Dean. Then, "Cas!" as the angel's legs gave out and he crumpled to the floor.

"I'm…alright…" panted Cas, wincing as lances of pain shot through his wings and chest.

"Like hell you are," said Dean, scooping Cas up into his arms.

The angel made a sound of surprise. "Dean, you don't have to—"

"Don't fight me," growled Dean, carrying him over to the bed and setting him down. "I'm trying to help you."

"I'm sorry, Dean," said Cas, looking down at his hands. "I'm being very ungrateful."

"Enough with the apologies!" said Dean. "Jesus, what is it with you and the self-degradation?" Castiel shrugged noncommittally and looked away.

"They fed you that bull crap, didn't they?" said Dean. "Those other angels."

"Ephram and Jonah," said Cas quietly. "Yes."

"Well, it's crap, you hear me?" said Dean. "Cas, look at me." He grabbed the angel's chin and forced him to meet his gaze. The intensity in the green eyes made Castiel flinch. "Whatever they told you about yourself, it's crap, okay? You're a hundred times better than them, than all of them."

"And the things you said?"

Dean sat down on the edge of the bed and put his head in his hands.

"Dean?" Cas ventured after a minute. "Are you alright?"

"Jesus," said Dean. " _You're_ asking _me_ if I'm alright?"

"Yes, I am," said Cas. "Are you? Alright."

"Fuck. Yes, no." Dean took a deep breath. "I didn't mean those things I said, Cas. I'm not sick of you. I was angry."

"I gathered as much, yes," said Cas. "I too was quite angry."

"I don't blame you. The last time I saw you, I tried to kill you."

"No you didn't," said Cas with conviction. "If you had wanted to kill me, I would be dead."

There was a long, heavy silence.

"I didn't want you leave again."

Sam looked at his brother in surprise. This was a big admission for Dean, especially when not made in the heat of battle or when someone's life was in immediate danger.

"I would have come back, you know," said Cas, looking up at Dean earnestly. "Despite what you said, I would have come back, if Ephram and Jonah hadn't—"

"I know," said Dean, cutting him off. And he did. Because as many times as Cas had left, he had always come back. "I'm sorry I didn't look for you sooner. I'm sorry I let them—"

"How did you know where to look for me?" Cas interrupted. "The place was warded."

"Hannah," said Dean. "She popped up and told me you were in trouble in Seattle, so Sam and I raced down here as fast as we could. The rest was Sam's sleuth work."

"You came even though you were mad at me."

"What does that have to do with anything?" said Dean. "Of course we came, you're—"

"—family," finished Cas with a small smile. "Yes, I know."

"Damn straight you are," said Dean, the corners of his own mouth lifting. "And don't you forget it."

Cas shifted on the bed. He felt cold and achy. "Dean," he said hesitantly, "would it be inappropriate for me to hug your right now?"

"Yes," said Dean, and Cas' face fell. "But do it anyway."

"Are you sure?"

"Oh get over here before I change my mind."

Cas leaned in and wrapped his arms around Dean. Dean returned the gesture, pulling the slighter man against his chest, careful of his wings. Cas let out a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding. He hadn't known it was possible for an angel to miss someone as much as he had missed this man. As much as he always missed him when they were apart. Then again, Dean Winchester was the exception to many rules.

 _Oooh boy,_ thought Dean, as heat flooded his body and he became keenly aware of Sam's presence in the room. _This is something we_ really _need to talk about._

 **AN: So, the Klose-In Motel is, well was, a real motel in North Seattle. It closed last year a couple months after this fic is set, but it's one of many varyingly sketchy motels on Aurora, alternatively known as Highway 99. It's honestly a little far north for the boys to be staying, since they came from South of Seattle, but I couldn't bring them to Seattle and not have them stay in an Aurora motel. The last chapter was, in fact, littered with Seattle jokes, from our awful traffic and lack of parking to the over to top weed billboards to Dick's Burgers, which really is a local Seattle chain. I realize that the references will probably be lost on everyone but myself and my Sap Police, but at least I amused us, lol.**

 **Thank you for reading, I know my fic has a lot of competition, haha.**

 **-SQ**


	4. Chapter 3: On the Way Home

**Author's Note: So I got some anonymous reviews from TsukiyomiMidori that I would like to answer. First of all, the angels are not all male. While they are collectively referred to as brothers, female angels, like Hannah and Anna, are referred to individually as sisters in the show. My gender switching for Hannah in the male vessel was very intentional. I even commented to my friend how many people she thought would get it and how many complaints she thought I'd get for it, haha. There is also a reason that Cas is so down on himself. The physical torture inflicted by Ephram and Jonah was only part of it. They tore him down psychologically too. Dean called him on it in the last chapter and got much the answer I just gave you. You'll see more of that and its repercussions. This isn't a new thing for him, just vocalizing it is. He's been literally suicidal with guilt in the show before, and Misha just confirmed in a convention last week that a big part of the reason Cas said yes to Lucifer was that he felt worthless and like it was the only way he could be useful. As for Dean, I don't think he is portrayed as homophobic in the show. Yes, he's very macho, to the point of seeming like he's compensating ;) but he's never showed bigoted attitudes toward other homosexual characters on the show. He loved Charlie like a little sister, and even early on his disgust with Wincest was purely the incest part, not the gay part. He even jokes a bit about him and/or Sam being gay, and not in a derogatory way. Also, he isn't just starting to realize his feeling for Cas, he's just finally starting to** _ **admit**_ **them. This is something that's been building up for a good while now. At** _ **least**_ **since the Leviathans essentially melted Cas to nothing but a trench coat that Dean proceeded to carry around with him for most of a season. So, as I see it, most of that buildup of Dean & Cas' feelings for each other and Dean's slow and agonizing realization is in the show itself, and this story starts at its culmination. The feelings are there, now it's time to act on them. Not that Dean thinking to himself that they need to talk about something and actually starting that conversation are at all he same thing, haha. I don't want to give too much away, but Dean's sexuality and his relationship with it will be addressed, and his struggle with his feelings for Cas, both with their homosexual nature and with the whole 'Dean doesn't believe he deserves love' thing, is far from over. Actually, right now **_**neither**_ **of them believe they deserve love. See above about Cas. Sorry, that was very long. Hopefully several of you were wondering similar things.**

 **-SQ**

 **Disclaimer: I'm not secretly Eric Kripke or something, just FYI**

 **Chapter Three: On the Way Home**

"Hey Cas, do you feel up to traveling?"

It was the next morning and Cas was picking at the muffin and coffee Sam had picked up for him down the street. He had not sleep well; he felt too hot and too cold in turns, his whole body ached in spite of the large amounts of pain medication Dean had given him, and his stomach felt simultaneously empty and unsettled. But he knew they would all be more comfortable at the bunker; they just had to get there.

"Yes," he said, "I can travel."

Sam looked at him dubiously. "You sure, Cas? You don't look so hot."

"If Cas says he can travel, he can travel," said Dean. "He's tougher than he looks."

Cas wasn't sure whether this was supposed a compliment or not. "I'm not saying the journey will be a pleasant one," he said, taking a sip of his by now lukewarm coffee, "but I can do it."

"We can wait, Cas," said Sam, "there's no rush."

"That lie is unnecessary, Sam," said Cas, glancing at Dean. "I, too, would like to get back to the bunker."

"At least finish your breakfast," said Sam. "I'll go take the bags out and pull the car up front."

Dean nodded and Sam left the room, grabbing their bags and the keys to the Impala on the way out.

Dean looked at Cas. "You're not going to finish that, are you?"

Cas shook his head. "My stomach doesn't seem to be very happy right now."

"We'll find it something that agrees with it more later," said Dean, taking the rest of the muffin and the half full coffee cup from Cas and tossing them in the garbage. "Can you stand?"

"I can try."

"Don't bother," said Dean, hooking his arm beneath the angel's knees, "I'll carry you."

Before he knew what was happening, Cas found himself cradled in Dean's arms for the third time that week. He drew in a sharp breath, feeling suddenly lightheaded.

"Cas? You okay?"

"Yes," said Cas, attempting to get a handle on himself. Apparently, being sick really messed with his control over his emotions. "You just startled me. Don't drop me," he added.

"I won't drop you," said Dean, sounding slightly offended at the suggestion. "Relax."

 _Yeah_ ,thought Cas, feeling Dean's heartbeat through his flannel, _easy for you to say._

"Cas, buddy, you still with me?"

"What? Sorry Dean, I guess I zoned out."

"The pain meds'll do that to ya," said Dean. "You can sleep all you want in the car."

"That sounds pleasant."

Dean smiled.

"What?"

"Nothing." A thought occurred to Dean. "Cas, how're we going to fit your wings into the car?"

"Same way as always," said Cas. "Just because you couldn't see them doesn't mean they weren't there."

Somehow the wings did fit, though logically they should have been far too big, and ten minutes later, Cas was lying down in the back seat of the Impala with his head in Dean's lap.

Sam got into the driver's seat and pulled the car seat from the motel. Cas was already half asleep, drugged out on pain killers, but Dean couldn't seem to figure out where to put his hands.

"Dean," muttered Cas, after enduring several minutes of the hunter's indecision, "you are making it very hard to sleep."

"Sorry," Dean said gruffly. "I'll just..."

Cas found Dean's hand with his own and pulled it down so that both their hands were resting on his stomach. "This is good," he said.

Dean avoided Sam's amused gaze in the rearview mirror. "If the pain gets bad, you can squeeze my hand as hard as you need to," he said, feeling the need to justify their clasped hands.

"I'll keep that in mind," murmured Cas, who was already half asleep again.

Dean placed his other hand on Cas' shoulder to secure the angel in place and leaned back against the seat. He glanced up and finally met Sammy's reflected eyes.

"Not a word," he growled.

Sam smirked and mimed locking his lips and throwing away the key.

*****SPN*****

Sam tried to drive as carefully and smoothly as possible, but some bumps in the road were unavoidable. Each time they hit one, Cas would grip Dean's hand tightly and Dean would squeeze back in sympathy and reassurance, never complaining, even when he started to lose feeling in his fingers. At one point, Dean's other hand strayed from Cas' shoulder to the midnight curve of his wing, his fingers absently stroking the inky feathers. When he realized what he was doing, he quickly withdrew his hand.

Castiel's blue eyes opened and he gave Dean a reproachful look.

"I'm sorry, did I hurt you? Or break some angel code or something?"

Cas shook his head. "No. That felt good. Don't stop. Please."

Gently, Dean returned his fingers to the feathers fanning across his knee. Cas made a contented sound almost like a cat. Dean shook his head at the implausibility of it all, but he didn't take his hand from Cas' wing.

*****SPN*****

They stayed the night at a motel outside of Twin Falls, Idaho, this time requesting a room with three beds. The best the place could do was two beds and a foldout futon couch, which Sam insisted on taking, despite its insufficient length, as Dean had spent the last several nights sleeping in an armchair.

The drive hadn't done Castiel any favors. He was deathly pale and his face was tight with pain as Dean placed him on one of the beds.

"Cas, buddy, hey, wake up, you gotta eat something."

Cas groaned and shook his head. "I'm not hungry."

"Cas, you haven't had anything to eat all day," said Sam.

"Hey." said Dean. "Hey!" He snapped his fingers in front of Cas' hazy eyes. "Focus. I know you feel like burning crap, but you're not going to get any better if you don't eat, so come on." He hauled Cas into a sitting position and fed him takeout soup until the angel turned his head away.

"Dean, I really can't eat any more," said Castiel, looking faintly green.

Dean sighed and put down the half-eaten bowl of soup. "Alright, we don't want you ralphing everywhere." He helped Cas lie down again, adjusting the pillows to make sure that he was as comfortable as possible.

"Here," said Sam, coming over with a cool, damp washcloth from the bathroom. "This might help." He laid it on Cas' burning forehead.

Dean pulled the blankets up over the angel. "Sam and I will be right here, you holler if you need us." But Castiel was already asleep.

****SPN****

Cas opened his eyes to blackness. He reached out his hands to get an idea of the space he was in and found them bound. Panic rose in his chest and he tried to call out for Dean, but his voice caught in his throat. Suddenly light flooded the room, making Cas squint.

"Dean? Sam?"

Someone laughed. "Aw, that's cute, he thinks his boyfriend has come to save him."

"How pathetic," said a second voice. "As if anyone would care enough to save you."

Ephram stepped into the room. "Been dreaming again, Castiel? Well it's time to wake up now and face the music. No one is ever coming for you. You belong here. This is the punishment for your sins, and the only place you won't be able to hurt anyone else with your mistakes. You're poison, Castiel. And poison needs to be drained." He twirled his angel blade casually between his fingers.

A feeling of utter hopelessness fell over Castiel. It had all been a dream. A cruel hallucination. Sam and Dean hadn't come. They didn't want him. No one wanted him. He wasn't an angel anymore, he wasn't a hunter, he had no family, no friends. He was nothing.

"Kill me," he pleaded with Ephram and Jonah, beyond dignity if only he could stop the pain. "End this."

Ephram gave him a considering look. "No, I don't think so. If you're dreaming about the Winchesters swooping in to save you, I'm not sure you've learned your lesson yet."

Castiel couldn't help it, he shrank away from the blade as it cut into him, screaming to block out Ephram's words.

"Cas! _Cas!_ " The angel thrashed against them, nearly throwing Sam to the floor and clocking Dean across the face. "Cas, wake up!"

Dean gripped the angel by the shoulders. Wild blue eyes shot open, staring blindly for a few seconds before focusing on Dean's face, which was inches from Cas' own. The angel was shaking like a leaf. He turned and retched onto the floor next to the bed, spattering Sam's socks. The hunter made a face, but otherwise didn't comment, laying a steadying hand on Cas' shoulder.

"Easy there, Cas. Deep breaths. Do you want some water?"

The angel managed to nod, and Sam quickly filled a cup with water and held it to Cas' lips.

Cas' drank the water, wiped his mouth, and then looked up at the faces of two very concerned Winchesters. "I'm alright," he managed. "It was just a dream."

"Some dream," said Sam, rubbing circles on the angel's back.

"Were you back there?" Dean asked softly. "With the angels who tortured you?"

Cas nodded, unable to meet Dean's eyes. He bit down on his bottom lip, willing himself not to cry.

"Fucking bastards," Dean swore. "They can't hurt you anymore, you understand? Sammy made sure of that."

A drop of blood pooled on Cas' lip and fell onto the bedspread.

"Hey, stop that," said Dean, "you're hurting yourself."

Castiel licked his lip, tasting blood. He tried to say something, but his voice caught and he turned his head away so that Dean wouldn't see him cry. Only Dean must have moved when he wasn't looking, because he ended up turning his face right into Dean's shoulder. Before he could pull away, the hunter's arms wrapped around his shoulders. A second later, Sam's arms closed around them both, drawing them into a group hug.

The three of them sat there for a long time, until Cas' breathing quieted. Eventually he lifted his head.

"Man," said Dean, "your hair is a mess."

Cas cracked a grin, Dean started to chuckle, and soon all three of them were breathless with laughter. Just as they were starting to pull it together, Sam reached over and ruffled Dean's hair, saying, "Now you match," which set them all off again, the brothers launching into a wrestling match nearly on top of Cas.

Sam tried to pin Dean to the bed. The elder Winchester twisted out of his grip and found himself nose-to-nose with Castiel.

"Uh, sorry," he said, sitting up quickly. "Are you feeling better?"

Cas nodded. "Yes, I'm feeling much better, thank you."

"Don't mention it," said Dean awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck, which was suddenly warm.

"I'm afraid I made kind of a mess of the floor," said Cas, sounding a bit embarrassed. "And of Sam's socks."

"I'll take care of it," said Dean quickly, leaping up. "Sam, you help Cas get cleaned up."

Sam took pity on the pleading look Dean gave him, and after stripping off his soiled footwear, helped Cas into the bathroom, leaving Dean to clean up the mess on the floor.

Ten minutes later, Cas emerged from the bathroom, leaning heavily on Sam. His face and hair were freshly washed and he was wearing a clean pair of Dean's pajama pants and one of his t-shirts, having somehow managed to get it on in spite of his wings. Dean found himself staring and mentally smacked himself.

 _Jesus, Dean, get a grip._

Sam helped Cas back onto the bed. "Maybe we should stay here another night, let you recover some before we get back on the road."

Cas shook his head. "I'd rather just get ho—back to the bunker."

"Home it is, then," said Dean firmly, standing and crossing to his own bed. "After we get a few more hours of shut eye."

The shift in Cas' face was subtle, but Dean caught it. He frowned, screwed up his face like he had swallowed a lemon, and then threw up his hands.

"Oh, what the hell."

Dean stood up again and shoved his bed away from the wall until it was side-by-side with Castiel's. Then he lay down. "If you steal my covers, I'm kicking your ass."

****SPN****

Dean awoke with a problem. Not that it was an uncommon state for a virile man to find himself in first thing in the morning, but the issue was exacerbated by the fact that Cas' legs were bent up in front of him so that his knees dug into Dean's stomach and his head was resting on Dean's outstretched arm, effectively pinning Dean to the bed.

"Dammit, Cas," he muttered, "I'm _not a pillow_."

Dean tried to extricate himself without waking the angel, because wouldn't that be awkward, and was relieved when Cas did no more than mutter and roll over in his sleep. He made his escape to the bathroom to take care of his business, and when he came out, Sam was awake and waiting by the door.

"It's about time, man," said Sam grumpily, "I need to pee."

"It's all yours, Princess," said Dean. "Don't take too long doing your hair."

Sam shot him a bitch-face as he entered the bathroom and shut the door.

Dean threw their dirty clothes into the bag, did a perfunctory sweep of the room, and then shook Cas awake.

"Morning, Sleeping Beauty, up and at 'em."

Cas sat up groggily, wincing and rubbing his eyes.

"Come on," said Dean. "You can sleep some more in the car, but we've gotta get there first."

"Morning Cas," said Sam, coming out of the bathroom, his hair perfect as always. "How was the rest of your night? No more nightmares?"

Cas shook his head. "It was much better. My dreams were much more pleasant with Dean sleeping beside me."

Dean choked on the beer he had just opened and taken a swig of.

"That's great, Cas," said Sam, grinning and pounding his brother hard on the back.

Cas was frowning at Dean. "You drink beer in the morning?"

"Sometimes," said Dean defensively.

"More often than not, these days," muttered Sam under his breath.

"What's it to you?" snapped Dean. "I'm not driving."

"I was not aware that beer was a beverage ordinarily consumed with breakfast," said Cas.

"It's not," said Sam. Cas looked troubled.

"Who are you guys, my parents?" said Dean. "Let's ditch this joint, I wanna get home." He tossed the duffle bag to Sam and crossed the room, slinging Cas' arm over his shoulder. "Think you can walk today if I help you?"

"I should be able to, yes," said Cas. "I did with Sam last night, anyway."

Dean levered him to his feet and helped him out to the car, where they resumed the same position as the day before. Dean had serious concerns about the effect of this position on the blood flow to certain areas of his anatomy, but he pushed that thought aside. He wasn't about to let Cas slide to the floor the next time Sam slammed on the brakes because he couldn't keep his libido in check.

Sam stopped for breakfast and gas at the nearest gas station and then the trio were on their way. Cas mostly dozed, waking from time to time to contribute a few words to the brothers' conversation. But around the Wyoming border, he started to get restless.

"What's up, Cas?" asked Dean, peering down into the angel's face. "Do you need to use the bathroom again?"

Cas shook his head. "I think we should pull over," he said tightly, "I don't feel very—"

At that moment the Impala rounded a sharp curve, Cas went as green as a field of grass, and lost his breakfast all over the upholstery.

"Son of a bitch!" said Dean, and then made a noise that was somewhere between a whimper and a groan, looking at the pool of vomit soaking into the back seat of his baby. "Really, man?" he said, shaking his head. "In the car?"

"Sorry, Dean," said Cas miserably.

Dean sighed through gritted teeth. "Come on, let's get you out of here and cleaned up."

Sam pulled the Impala over to the side of the road and Dean helped Cas out of the back seat. He stripped off his soiled shirt and handed him his own jacket to wear. Technically the shirt was Dean's too, but at this point he didn't really want it back.

"How are you feeling, Cas?" Sam asked, coming over to where his brother and the angel were sitting on the grass. He offered Cas a plastic bottle of water.

Cas took the bottle, rinsed his mouth and spat on the ground, then drank the rest thirstily.

"Better," he said when he had finished. "I am sorry about your car, Dean."

Dean took a deep breath and blew it out through his nose. "It's not your fault," he said, patting Cas' shoulder.

Dean left Cas with Sam and went to inspect the damage to his Baby.

"Fan-freaking-tastic," he muttered to himself as he set to work cleaning up the mess. Luckily he had a lot of experience getting various body fluids out of his upholstery.

When he was satisfied, he returned to where his brother and his angel were sitting in the grass.

"It's salvageable," he declared, sinking down next to Cas. "We might want to let the car air out for a bit, though.

"I'm sor—" Cas started, but Dean cut him off with a glare.

"Can it. Just don't do it again."

Cas nodded emphatically. "Believe me, Dean, I have no wish to repeat the experience."

When Dean deemed they had given the car sufficient time to air out, the three of them got back in. The far seat was still damp with cleaning products, so Cas had to sit in the middle rather than lying down. This caused a bit of a dilemma about the placement of Cas' wings, which hit Dean in the face several times as the angel was trying to get situated.

"Stop, stop!" spluttered Dean, his mouth full of feathers. "Hold still for a minute, would you?" Cas complied, and Dean extricated his arms from the tangle and wrapped them around Cas' stomach, pulling the angel back to rest against his chest. From this vantage, the damage to the feathery appendages was very apparent, as was the heat radiating from Castiel's body. Dean's chest tightened. So, it seemed, did his arms.

"Dean, I wouldn't advise putting pressure on my stomach right now."

"Right. Sorry, Cas," said Dean, hastily loosening his grip.

As they sped down the highway, Dean followed the patterns of Cas' feathers with the tips of his fingers. "Cas?"

"Mmhmm?"

"Is this how your wings really look? I mean, I know you're really a wavelength of celestial intent or whatever..."

"No, Dean, the sight of my true wings would, like the rest of my true form, burn your eyes from their sockets.

"Pleasant," muttered Dean.

"But this seems to be how they look when manifested to my vessel on this plane."

"I was wondering about that," said Sam from the driver's seat. "Your vessel, I mean. Lucifer destroyed you down to a subatomic level. Not to mention all of the other times you've died and been brought back. So what exactly _are_ you now? Physically, I mean."

Cas considered for a moment. "That's an interesting question," he said at length. "And also perhaps a clue as to why my wings manifested on this plane when both my physical and ethereal forms were put under extreme stress."

"Something you'd like to share with the class, Cas?" said Dean, when the angel didn't continue.

"Sam is right; I no longer inhabit a vessel in the true sense of the term. When I was brought back, I can only assume by God, I was restored in this form while Jimmy, as you know, remained in Heaven. It seems his physical form has joined with my essence, sparing me the need to take another human vessel while here on Earth." Cas sagged against Dean, spent with the effort of such a long speech. Dean adjusted the arm supporting the angel, making sure he was secure on the seat.

"Huh," said Sam, "that's convenient."

"In many ways, yes," said Cas. "Though in others it does make me more vulnerable."

"Do they hurt?" asked Dean, who had gone from absently stroking the dark feathers to examining the damaged bone and sinew underneath.

"A great deal," said Cas. "It will be a long time before I fly again."

"I prefer driving anyway," said Dean. "Once we get back to the bunker, we'll work on getting you patched up."

Cas nodded, paying less attention to Dean's words than to the sound and vibrations of his voice.

Dean realized that the angel was drifting off again. "Better sleeping than puking," he muttered, and leaned his own head back against the corner where the seat met the window and closed his eyes as well.

Sam soon found himself the only person awake in the Impala. He made a bitch face in the rear view mirror at his snoring brother, but didn't attempt to wake him; Dean needed the rest.

Dean would kill him for thinking it, but Sam had to admit it was a pretty cute picture; the angel curled up against the hunter's chest, Dean's arms wrapped protectively around Cas' middle.

Sam yawned and glanced the clock on the dashboard. It was getting late and he wouldn't mind a few hours of sleep himself. He pulled up to the next motel, honked the horn loudly, startling Dean and Cas awake, then, chuckling to himself, went inside to check them into the motel.

 **AN: I hope you're enjoying reading this story half as much as I'm enjoying writing it. I have to give credit to my Sap Police for also giving me the proper reaction for Dean when Cas threw up in his car. In addition to identifying with Dean, Sap Police has a Baby of his own. Different car, not as much history, same devotion, lol.**

 **I would really appreciate your reviews. It helps my writing, which I think/hope has come a long way since most of my stories were written.**

 **-SQ**


	5. Chapter 4: The Pachyderm in the Room

**Author's Note: I wasn't going to post this until I got another chapter of my in-progress** _ **Harry Potter**_ **fanfic written, but then I lost 700 words or so of that and had to write that chunk all over again, and my Sap Police finished reading several more chapters of this, so I decided, screw it, I'll get this chapter up, because it's an important one and I want to, lol. This is also another long chapter, lol. I hope you don't mind.**

 **-SQ**

 **Disclaimer: Not Eric Kripke, not Chuck**

 **Chapter Four: The Pachyderm in the Room**

The rest of the journey back to the bunker was mercifully uneventful. The trip that had taken Sam and Dean just over one full day on the way there, had taken three at their more reasonable return pace.

"Home, sweet home," said Dean, lifting Cas out of the back seat of the Impala.

"I can walk, Dean," The angel protested, though he wasn't at all sure as to the accuracy of this statement. It seemed neither was Dean, as he ignored it and carried the angel into the bunker.

"I'll handle dinner," Sam called to them, heading for the kitchen.

Dean grunted his assent and carried Cas into one of the bedrooms, setting him down on the bed.

Cas looked around, taking in the arsenal of weapons displayed on the walls and the faded photograph on the wooden desk. "Dean, this is your room."

"Congratulations, Captain Obvious. What's your point?"

"Surely there is a vacant room that I can stay in while I'm here."

"And what if your fever spikes in the middle of the night? Or you have another nightmare? Or blow chunks all over yourself? Nah, you're better off here where I can keep an eye on you. At least until you're able to make it to the bathroom on your own."

Cas had to admit he had a point. And the idea of continuing to share a bedroom with Dean was certainly not unpleasant. Cas realized he had gone off into his own mind again, missing the last thing Dean had said. "Sorry, Dean, what was that?"

"I said, hang on a minute, I'll be right back," said Dean. He left the room and returned a minute later dragging the mattress from the spare room down the hall. "There," he said, opening his closet and throwing some sheets and a blanket down on the mattress. "We're all set. You hungry?"

"Yes," said Cas, with some surprise, "I am."

"Good," said Dean. "Let's get some food in you. And hope it stays there."

*****SPN*****

Dinner, eaten together in Dean's room, was chicken and vegetable soup with bread and mashed potatoes with gravy. Dean made a face at his brother, accompanied by a comment about "rabbit food," but Cas thought the meal was delicious and said as much. He wasn't able to eat as much as his initial feeling of hunger would have suggested, but what he did eat he kept down, so the boys counted it a success.

Sam left for his own room after helping Dean change the dressings on Cas' wounds and wash off the dirt and grime of the road. Many of the lesser injuries were already starting to heal, which was a good sign, but the stripe of angry red, infected flesh that carved a broken and uneven trail from Cas' left shoulder to his right thigh would need a lot of careful attention. It was also going to leave a nasty scar.

Sam shook his head, scowling. Dean and Cas might have a "more profound bond," but Cas was still family, and Sam was royally pissed off that beings who had called themselves his brothers and sisters had done this to him.

Sam's gaze fell on something on the floor by his feet and he bent to pick it up. It was a feather—not Cas'; their angel's were jet black and this was a creamy white with gilded edges. It didn't belong to any bird that Sam could immediately place either. Not that that meant much; he was hardly an expert on avian plumage.

On an impulse, Sam pocketed the feather, and by the time he climbed into bed fifteen minutes later, he had forgotten all about it.

*****SPN*****

Dean's bed was extraordinarily comfortable. The memory foam mattress was, of course, fitted to the hunter's body, but it wasn't too far off from Cas' own form and the angel didn't mind. Cas turned his face into the pillow. It smelled like Dean; human and familiar. He could hear Dean moving around on the mattress below him. Cas had protested the hunter giving up his bed, saying he could just as easily sleep on the mattress on the floor, but Dean had insisted, and Cas was secretly both pleased and touched by this.

Dean's voice interrupted Cas' thoughts. "You okay up there, Cas?"

"Yes, Dean," said Cas. "I am fine."

More rustling. "Okay, well, goodnight, Cas"

"Goodnight, Dean."

*****SPN*****

Castiel woke up screaming. He sat bolt upright, straining a muscle in his shoulder and tangling his wings in the bedclothes.'

"Cas, Cas!" said Dean, getting in front of the disoriented angel so that he could see him. "You're alright, it was just a dream."

Cas took a shaky breath and the bedroom door banged open, making him jump once more. Sam stood there, gun in hand. "Is everything alright? I heard screaming."

"Cas had another nightmare," said Dean, helping the angel to disentangle his wings. "Could you get him some water?"

Sam nodded and was soon pressing a cup of water into Cas' shaking hands.

Dean smoothed the angel's ruffled feathers back into place. "You're alright," he said again. "Drink slowly, deep breaths."

Sam had a sudden flashback to when he would wake up with night terrors as a child. Dean used to say the same thing to him.

"I'm sorry I woke you," Cas muttered, feeling embarrassed with both brothers' eyes on him. "It was nothing."

"Didn't sound like nothing, man," said Sam. "Nightmares are nothing to be ashamed of."

Dean nodded. "God knows Sammy and I have both had our fair share."

Cas put down his empty cup. "I appreciate your concern, but I really am fine. You should go back to sleep."

Sam put a hand on Cas' pale, flushed cheek and frowned. "Dean, he's burning up."

Dean, meanwhile, was noticing that while Cas' panic seemed to have died down, his breathing still sounded labored.

"Cas, can you breathe alright?" he asked.

"It's a little…difficult," the angel admitted. "I didn't want…to bother you."

"I'll find him something to take," said Sam, heading for the door.

"Cas, you start feeling even more like shit, you tell us, you understand?" said Dean. "I don't care if it's four o'clock in the fucking morning. You can't breathe, that's not something that waits til later."

Cas nodded.

Sam returned with the medicine, and the brothers sat with Cas until he fell asleep again, propped up on a pile of pillows to ease his breathing.

Dean put his head in his hands. "I didn't mean to yell at him."

"I think he knows that, Dean," said Sam, putting a hand on his brother's shoulder. "He's tough, he'll pull through."

Dean nodded. "I won't let him do anything else." He patted his brother's arm. "Go back to bed, I got this."

*****SPN*****

By morning, Cas had developed a hacking cough that made him feel like his heart was being ripped out through his throat. Which was so sore he could barely swallow anything but soup and tea and even the humidifier Sam had dragged out from some part of the bunker and put on full blast couldn't banish the rattle from his chest every time he drew a breath. And now Dean had to break the news to him that his wrist would have to be rebroken.

Castiel examined the offending limb dully. "I thought something wasn't right with it. It aches every time I move it. And I can't bend it all the way."

"The break didn't set properly," said Dean. "It's begun to heal all wrong. The sooner we correct it the better."

Castiel coughed and nodded, closing his eyes.

Dean felt like someone was wringing out his insides. "I'll make it as quick as I can. Sam, you hold him."

Sam held Castiel still as Dean rebroke the angel's wrist, rubbing his back to ease the resulting coughing fit as Dean secured his arm in do-it-yourself cast. With Cas' wings visible to all, a hospital was out of the question.

"There we go, buddy," Dean said. "All done. That wasn't so bad was it?"

"It could have been worse," Cas agreed in a hoarse whisper, followed by another harsh cough.

*****SPN*****

The Winchesters had their hands full of very sick angel for several days. Dean kept hoping Cas would get better so that he could focus on his damaged wings, but eventually he knew he would have to tend to them, cough and fever or no, or they too would start to heal wrong.

"I've never doctored a wing before, Cas," said Dean, running his hands experimentally over the appendages in question, "so you'll have to bear with me."

The angel was at least alert today, although he looked and felt like death warmed over. "I trust you, Dean."

The hunter's hands stilled briefly before resuming their work. "Don't say that, Cas," he said roughly.

"Why not?"

"Because you don't mean it. We've both done too much shit to each other for either of us to be saying that right now."

Cas couldn't dispute that. "I trust you with my wings," he said finally.

"That's a start."

The damage to Cas' wings was very specific; the angels had obviously know what they were doing. Cas confirmed Dean's suspicion—based on the fact that the damage seemed to be calculated to cause pain rather than permanent disfigurement—that an angel's wings were the equivalent of a vital organ. There were numerous holes and tears in the wing flesh, most of which were already beginning to scar, and many of the inky black feathers were bent, broken, or missing entirely. The worst damage, however, was a fracture near the right wingtip, and another close to the shoulder joint, that would leave Castiel flightless until they had fully healed.

As he set and splinted the breaks, and secured protective bandages over the bald patches, Dean couldn't help but marvel at the fact that he was touching honest to goodness angel wings. Even in their battered state, the wings were an awesome sight; twenty feet of midnight feathers spreading out above and to either side of the angel. Dean was reminded of the first time he had seen the angel in Bobby's barn seven years before. His wings had been only a shadow on the wall then, but they had seemed to fill the barn with equal measures of terror and beauty. Never in a million years could Dean have foreseen then what would develop between him and the trench-coated figure striding imposingly into Bobby's barn.

As for Castiel, this was a new experience for him too. One that was, despite the pain, not entirely unpleasant. And if he noticed that Dean's hands lingered a fraction longer than strictly necessary on the silky feathers, he neither minded nor made any comment.

"There," pronounced Dean, two painstaking hours later. "Finished. You'll have to sleep sitting up for a while—I don't want you putting pressure on that break until it's more stable—but hopefully soon those wings of yours will be on the mend."

"Thank you, Dean."

"Don't mention it," he said, waving off the angel's gratitude. "You've healed me countless times. I just wish I could do it as easily."

"It means more when it takes effort," said the angel, pausing to cough harshly into his elbow. Dean's hand automatically reached out to pat his back. "You and Sam taught me that."

Dean didn't know what to say. "You're something else, Cas," he muttered.

"Something else besides what?" asked Cas quizzically, his voice coming out as a wheeze.

"Don't worry about it, Cas," said Dean. "Get some rest. Do you want me to wake you when dinner is ready?"

Cas nodded and closed his eyes, leaning back against the pillows. Dean pulled the blanket up over his angel, gently brushed his hair back from where it had fallen in his eyes, and left the room, pulling the door closed behind him.

*****SPN*****

After Dean had tended to and set his wings, Cas' health began to improve surprisingly quickly. Three days later, his fever was almost gone and while he still had a lingering cough, with Dean's help he was able to get out of bed and walk to the kitchen for breakfast.

"It's good to see you out and about, Cas," said Sam, placing a plate of bacon, eggs, and toast on the table in front of him.

"At least someone thinks so," said Cas, sending an annoyed look in Dean's direction.

Dean grunted as he piled bacon onto his plate. "Better safe than sorry."

"You know if you were you, you wouldn't spend a second longer than you had to cooped up in that room," said Sam, sitting down with his own breakfast.

"He's out here, isn't he?" said Dean irritably. "What more do you want from me?"

"And we're glad he is," said Sam pointedly, "right Dean?"

"Yeah, yeah," Dean grumbled, "let me eat." But he smiled at Cas when Sam wasn't looking to make sure the angel knew he wasn't really mad at him.

"Any word on Amara?" Dean asked several minutes later as he helped Sam carry the breakfast dishes to the sink.

Sam shook his head. "Still radio silence. I keep checking, hoping something will pop up, but so far no luck."

"What's Amara?" asked Cas. "And why are you looking for it?"

"Her," said Sam. "And she's The Darkness,"

"So The Darkness in a woman."

"More like a preteen girl," said Sam. "At least the last time we saw her."

The brothers filled Cas in on the Amara situation. Well, Sam did. For some reason, talking about Amara with Cas made Dean feel uncomfortable, and he busied himself with cleaning up the kitchen.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" said Cas. "I know I'm much less useful without my Grace—"

"I'm not sure your mojo would make much of a difference," said Dean, who had run out of things to clean. "This is The Darkness we're talking about."

"You could help us with our research, Cas" said Sam. "Three sets of hands are better than two."

"That's not a bad idea," said Dean. "If you're up to it. This is more your neck of the woods than ours; maybe you'll catch something we missed."

*****SPN*****

Cas' health was improving slowly. He still tired easily and was unable to walk more than a few steps unassisted, but his cheeks had regained their color, the jagged gash on his torso had closed, although he would always have the scar, and the missing feathers in his wings were starting to grow back. Of course, not all of Cas' wounds had been physical.

"What were you dreaming about?" Dean asked carefully. He was sitting on his bed next to Cas, his hand resting on the space between the angel's wings. The angel had just woken up from another nightmare and the physical contact helped bring him back to reality.

Cas looked up from his glass of water. Dean had never asked him about his nightmares before. "I don't want to talk about it."

"You kept saying, 'I won't tell you where they are,'" Dean persisted. "Who're 'they'?"

Castiel's stomach sank. He had hoped, stupidly, that Sam and Dean wouldn't find out about his latest failure. He was weak, and he still wanted their friendship, even though he didn't deserve it.

"Cas?"

Castiel couldn't meet Dean's eyes; he didn't want to see the moment when the hunter's expression changed from one of kindness and friendship to betrayal and hostility.

"You," he said heavily, staring down into the depths of his water glass as though he could find solace in the clear liquid. "And Sam."

 _"Son of a bitch."_

 _Here it comes_ , thought Cas miserably.

" _That's_ why they were torturing you? To find me and Sam?"

Castiel nodded, his eyes still fixed on his water glass. "Part of it at least. They also said I needed to be punished. Made an example of."

"Shit," swore Dean. _"Fuck."_

Cas winced, though he knew he deserved the harsh words. "I'm sorry, Dean."

Dean stopped in the middle of his string of curse words to stare uncomprehendingly at Cas. "What the hell for?"

"For betraying you."

"Cas, what are you babbling about?"

"I gave you and Sam up. How else would Hannah have been able to find you? I failed. Again."

 _"Cas,"_ growled Dean, hating the other angels more by the second. "Do you _remember_ telling them where to find us?"

Cas shook his head. "No," he admitted, feeling that that made it even worse, "but there's a lot I don't remember. It was...easier that way."

Dean wanted to punch something, preferably the dicks who had done this to Cas. Repeatedly. "Cas, I don't think you did give us up, though it would have been better for you if you had. Hannah said it took a long time for her to find me. Seems to me like she had to do the legwork herself. Seemed pretty pissed off about it too."

Castiel finally lifted his head. He felt as though a huge weight had been taken off his shoulders, though he could hardly dare to believe it. "You mean, I didn't betray you again?"

"No, you nearly got yourself killed protecting us, you noble idiot. _Fuck!_ " Dean stood up so suddenly that Castiel jumped. He crossed the room and punched the wall in frustration.

Cas' eyes widened. "Dean, don't, you'll hurt yourself."

"I'm such a fuck up."

"Dean, you're not a fuck up."

"I ruin everything I touch." The words that went through Cas' head daily about himself were much more distressing coming out of Dean's mouth.

"No, Dean, you don't."

"You were pure before we met. A freakin' Angel of the Lord. Now look at you!"

"What I have become is not your fault," said Cas. "Though I understand why it disgusts you."

"That's not what I—You don't disgust me, Cas. It's…fuck…I…you..." he swallowed hard and clamped his mouth shut, realizing that he wasn't making any sense whatsoever, even to himself. This wasn't at all how he had imagined having this conversation. Honestly, despite his growing self-awareness, he wasn't sure that he had ever truly planned to have this conversation at all.

"Dean, please stop hurting yourself."

Dean looked down and realized in a detached manner that he was clenching his fists so tightly that his nails were digging into his palms, drawing blood. He slowly opened them, wincing as he moved the fingers of the hand that had hit the wall.

Suddenly he felt another pair of hands cover his own and looked up into Cas' piercing blue eyes.

"Dean, please, I'm not worth it."

"Yes, you fucking _are_." Dean looked down at their clasped hands, his mouth suddenly bone-dry. Castiel was majorly invading his personal space, his face turned upward toward Dean's, his head cocked, blue eyes filled with concern and confusion and something else that Dean was afraid to put a name to.

"Cas...uh...I don't think we should…" Dean tried to let go of the angel's hands, to escape the situation that had suddenly become unbearably tense and awkward. But Castiel wouldn't release him, nor did he avert his wide-blue stare from Dean's face. God, they were so close now, all Dean would have to do was lean in those last couple inches and…

"Dean?"

The hunter started and his angel's brow creased with worry.

"Are you alright? Do you need to sit down?"

 _What I need is to get out of here,_ thought Dean desperately, but he made no move to do so. Instead he cleared his painfully dry throat and said, "Uh, yeah, let's sit down." He steered the angel over to the bed and sat, his thigh ending up pressing against Castiel's own. He moved slightly away, but didn't let go of Cas' hands, thie first twenty-six years of his life experience warring with the last eleven. "Cas," he said, "I think it's time we addressed the elephant in the room."

Castiel looked around, confused. "Dean, this room isn't big enough to hold a pachyderm."

In spite of the situation, Dean chuckled. "No, Cas, it means there's something we need to talk about."

Cas tilted his head. "I don't see why we would need to talk about elephants."

"Forget the elephant," said Dean impatiently. "We need to talk about us."

"Have I done something wrong?" asked Cas worriedly.

"No," said Dean. "I have. Or rather, I haven't done something that I should have done a long time ago. I've known for a long time, and I should have known earlier, but I was…and you were…I didn't want…and it was never…" God, he was babbling worse than Sammy! "Anyway, I think I've run out of excuses," he finished lamely.

"Dean," said Cas, "I'm not sure I follow you."

Dean took a deep breath, prepared to tell the angel to forget the whole thing, looked down and saw their still clasped hands, and realized he was so far past denial at this point it wasn't even funny. "I—" Where to begin? "I told you once that you were like a brother to me, Cas. But that's not true. No, wait," he said, when Cas tried to pull his hands from Dean's. "Just listen."

The hunter felt completely out of his depth. Give him a few evil, murderous monsters to gank, and Dean was a happy camper, but taking about his feelings? That was way outside his comfort zone. But there was no turning back now, and so Dean forged on, feeling as though he was digging himself a deeper and deeper hole with each word. "The kind of feelings I have for you are definitely not what normal people feel for their brothers." God, that sounded awful! He was doing this all wrong! _You're such a schmuck, Dean Winchester!_ "There were so many times when I should have told you. When you came back after the whole leviathan fiasco, when you fixed Sam—"

"Dean, I was the reason your brother needed 'fixing' in the first place."

"Don't interrupt me," Dean snapped, afraid to stop talking now that he had finally gotten started. "All that time we spent together in Purgatory…"

"In Purgatory…" said Cas slowly, voicing an assumption he had long harbored. "you and Benny…you weren't…?"

Dean sighed. "Me and Benny, it was…complicated. But it wasn't anything that would have lasted once we got out, with or without you."

Cas' gaze was fixed on his and Dean's clasped hands. He had always liked Dean's hands; they were strong and weathered. The hands of a worker, of a fighter. The hands of a hunter. "I had always thought that your preference was for women."

"In general, yes," said Dean. "But that's, uh, never been entirely exclusive." He shifted uncomfortably; this wasn't a piece of information he shared with very many people.

Cas was silent for a very long time.

"Look," said Dean, unable to bear the tension for a second longer. "If this is too little, too late, I get it—"

"I almost asked you once," interrupted Cas.

"Asked me?" said Dean, taken aback. "Like, asked me out?"

Cas nodded. "My timing was…very poor. You were angry with me, rightfully so, about what had happened with Naomi. You left me at the bunker and I went to buy you your magazines."

"My magazines?" said Dean blankly.

"Yes," said Cas, "the ones you seem so fond of. Busty A—"

"Oh good Lord. Yes, Cas, I know which ones you're talking about, you don't have to say it."

"Alright. Well, I went to buy those for you. And beer. And pie."

"You were gonna buy me pie?" said Dean.

"Yes," said Cas. "But Metatron found me."

"Let me get this straight," said Dean. "You were trying to ask me on a date, with porn and pie, and you ended up falling in with Metatron?"

"Yes," said Cas. "One of my typical 'fuck ups,' as you would say."

"No, Cas—I mean, yes, but it's actually kind of funny when you put it that way."

"I'm glad you find it amusing, Dean," said Cas, feeling a little miffed.

Dean had a sudden thought. "Naomi. That bitch!"

"Yes," Cas agreed. "What about her?"

"She knew. She knew and she totally played us against each other. She more or less told me, or at least insinuated that you didn't—that what I felt for you wasn't reciprocated."

"She told me much the same," said Castiel, nodding. "I am not surprised. It must have been her who told Ephram."

"Ephram?" said Dean. "You mean the angel who was holding you just now? In Seattle?"

"Yes," said Cas. "My…'impure thoughts' regarding you were one of the many things he felt I needed to be punished for."

Dean's face suddenly felt very hot. "Well, he sounds like someone who's never been laid. I bet he was just jealous."

"Considering that the only time I've ever actually been 'laid'" said Cas, "was by a reaper who then stabbed me, I doubt that is the case."

"But at least the sex was good, right?" said Dean.

"Are one's previous sexual relations usually a topic of discussion with a perspective romantic partner?" asked Cas.

That wiped the grin off Dean's face, as it is generally difficult to grin while choking on one's own spit.

"Or have I misread the situation?" said Castiel.

"No, no," Dean assured him, because even Castiel wouldn't have been dense enough to believe that obvious lie, "you haven't misread anything."

The hunter looked at the angel sitting on the bed beside him, his bandaged, splinted, but still impressive wings sprawled out behind him, his head cocked at a slight angle, his blue (God, were they blue) eyes full of quizzical apprehension. Dean's palms were sweaty and his chest felt tight with panic. Before he could second guess his actions, he leaned in and pressed his lips to Castiel's, trying to convey all of the things he couldn't say in that one brief meeting of lips. Cas made a whimpering sound and kissed him back, grabbing a fistful of Dean's shirt. Dean pulled back, his mind and his body warring as to whether he had just gone too far or not far enough.

"Did I do it wrong?" Cas asked in dismay.

"No, Cas, the Pizza Man taught you well," said Dean, earning him a chuckle from the angel. "How long have you been wanting to do that?"

"Since I understood what it meant," said Cas. "Kissing you was more enjoyable than kissing Meg," he added decisively.

"What exactly happened between you and Meg?" asked Dean. It was a question that had been gnawing at him for years.

"I was a virgin until my run in with April, if that's what you mean."

Dean's ears went red. "Good to know," he muttered. "But there was something. Between you and Meg."

"Yes," said Cas simply.

Dean shifted on the bed and Cas let go of one of Dean's hands in order to steady himself.

"Easy there. You alright?" Dean asked.

"Just tired," said Cas. "It's been an eventful night."

Dean chuckled. "You could say that." He lifted his free hand to Cas' hair. Somehow the simple gesture felt more intimate that the kiss they had just shared and he had to resist the urge to snatch his hand back. "You get better, you hear me?" he said gruffly, dropping his hand to the angel's shoulder instead.

"I'll do my best, Dean. I wouldn't want to disappoint you."

"It's not about disappoint—" Dean stopped. "You're making a joke, aren't you?"

"I was trying. I'm better in Enochian."

"Well, you've almost got the hang of it in English," said Dean, though this statement may have been a little generous. "Keep working on it. Think you can go back to sleep now?"

"I believe so."

Dean gave Cas' hand a squeeze and released it, relief mingling with reluctance in a very confusing manner. "Goodnight, Cas," he said, returning once more to his own mattress on the floor.

"Goodnight, Dean," came the contented reply.

 **AN: Awkward Dean is awkward, lol, but the scene has the Sap Police stamp of approval. Now for the update on SQ's life. Friday night I get on a plane to San Juan, Puerto Rico, and Sunday I board a cruise ship for a 6 month contract in the Southern Caribbean working as Entertainment Staff for Carnival. I'm not exactly sure yet how this will affect my time & ability to write, but I know I will have significantly less access to internet, especially actually laptop internet. SQ also has epically poor timing, as Sap Police has managed to graduate from friend to "Guy I'm seeing" right in time for me to ship out for half a year. I will keep writing, and posting when I can. Please keep reading and reviewing!**

 **-SQ**


	6. Chapter 5: Runaway

**AN: Hey, I didn't disappear, I promise! I just got on a cruise ship, lol. For real, though, I'm working a 6 month contract in the Southern Caribbean as an Entertainment Host with Carnival Cruise Lines. I'm definitely still working on this story, and my other one, but both time and internet are limited. I know that this chapter is on the short side and I apologize, but the last couple have been quite long. I will try to get the next chapter up sooner, but I can't make any guarantees.**

 **-SQ**

 **Disclaimer: One of the cruise ship TV channels plays throwback** _ **Supernatural**_ **, but I still don't own the show.**

 **Chapter Five: Runaway**

Dean was woken the next morning by his phone ringing.

"Hello?" Dean muttered groggily, after fumbling around for a minute in the dark.

"Dean?"

"Yeah? Who's this?"

"It's Sheriff Jody Mills. I'm sorry, did I wake you?

"No, don't worry about it," said Dean, sitting up and throwing off his blankets. "What's up? How are things in Sioux Falls?"

"Pretty normal, no more monsters, knock on wood." A pause. "You haven't heard from Claire, have you?"

"No, not for a while. Why? Is she giving you trouble?"

"She's missing," said Jody heavily. "Ran off a week ago. I was hoping maybe she'd contacted you."

Dean was already grabbing clean clothes and heading for the bathroom, the phone pressed between his ear and his shoulder. "No, she hasn't. When was the last time you heard from her? Any clue as to where she might have gone?"

"I've asked around town," said Jody, "but no one saw her leave. The girl knows how to disappear. And she hasn't been taking my calls; I'm hoping she's just ignoring me. She was very agitated before she left, insisted something was wrong with Castiel, I guess she hadn't been able to reach him for a while. I told her it was probably nothing and to talk to you first; I hoped she might have done so."

"She already did," said Dean, mentally cursing himself. "I didn't listen to her."

 _Dean's phone rang and he answered it with his usual curt greeting._

 _"Dean? Good, I caught you. It's Claire."_

 _"Hey, Claire," said Dean, pleasantly surprised that the teen would call him unprompted. He had developed a soft spot for Jimmy Novak's daughter; they had a surprising amount in common and had hit it off once she had stopped trying to kill him. "How goes it?"_

 _"That depends. Is Castiel there?"_

 _Dean's good mood evaporated. "No," he said shortly._

 _"Do you know where he is?"_

 _"No."_

 _"Have you_ heard _from him lately?" said Claire sounding annoyed. "He hasn't been answering his phone."_

 _"No surprise there; disappearing is what he does best. You're barking up the wrong tree," Dean snapped. "I don't know where he is and I don't care."_

 _"You don't mean that."_

 _"I promise you, I do. It's good to hear from you, Claire, and don't hesitate to call us if you need anything, but this conversation is over._

"I'm sorry, Jody. This is my fault. If I had listened to her she wouldn't have felt the need to go look for him on her own."

"Don't blame yourself, Dean. I'm sure you had other things on your mind."

"That's no excuse."

Dean exited the bathroom, buttoning up his shirt. Cas was sitting up in the bed, stretching his wings and rubbing his eyes.

"Dean? Is everything alright? Who is on the phone?"

"Jody Mills," said Dean. "Claire's missing."

"What?" said Cas, horrified. He swung his legs over the side of the bed. "We have to find her. She could be in trouble."

"Easy there, Cas," said Dean. "Just hold on a sec."

"Is that Castiel?" said Jody over the phone. "Shoot. I was hoping Claire might be with him."

"No such luck," said Dean. "But we'll find her, Jody."

"Call me when you do," said the sheriff. "I'll let you know if I hear anything on this end." She disconnected the call.

"Dammit," said Dean, kicking his chair in frustration. "Dammit!"

"Dean, that isn't helping anything."

Cas was right. "I'm gonna put Sam on finding her and make some calls, try to get someone to stay with you."

"No you're not," said Castiel. "I'm coming with you.

"Cas, don't be ridiculous, you can barely walk."

"I don't care, Dean," said the angel, his eyes blazing. "I'm an Angel of the Lord, not a child who needs a babysitter, and I'm not just going to sit here while Claire is in trouble. I promise I won't slow you down."

"It's not about you slowing us down," said Dean. "You're in no shape to hunt if this gets hairy."

"When has that ever stopped you? Or Sam?"

"That's different."

"How?"

The two glared at each other for a minute.

"Fine," said Dean finally, throwing up his hands. "But we're going to have to do something about your wings."

*****SPN*****

"Claire ran away from Jody's? Why?"

"My guess is she went to look for Cas." Both Cas and his brother looked at Dean. "She called me a couple weeks ago," he continued, not meeting either of their eyes. "Wanted to know if I'd heard from Cas, said he hadn't been answering his phone."

"And you...?"

"Did jack. Believe me, Sam, there's nothing you can say to me that I haven't already said to myself."

"Dean, beating yourself up about it isn't going to help us find Claire," said Cas.

"He's right," said Sam. "Have you tried calling her?"

"Jody said she's not answering her phone. I'm probably not her favorite person right now, but she might pick up for you. Can't hurt to try."

Sam pulled out his phone and selected Claire in his contacts. It went straight to voicemail.

"Hey Claire, it's Sam Winchester. You were right about Cas, but we found him and he's okay now. Running low on juice at the moment though, and worried about you. We all are. I don't know how much you're aware of, but there's stuff going on right now, big stuff; it's not a good time to be off on your own. Give me a call when you get this message and we'll come and get you." He ended the call. "Do you have any idea where to look for her?" he asked, directing his question to Cas.

It was Dean who answered. "If she hitchhiked and used cash, she'll be almost impossible to track. If she took the bus, we might have a little more to go on."

"She should not be hitchhiking," said Cas, sounding almost indignant. "It is not safe."

"No," agreed Sam. "But I'm betting she hitchhiked at least out of Sioux Falls. As the sheriff, Jody would be able to access the bus station security tapes, and Claire would know that."

"If it has security tapes," said Dean.

"I know gas stations do," said Sam. "There's a good chance she stopped by somewhere along the way to grab a bite to eat."

"Or to catch her next ride," said Dean.

"It's a start," said Sam. "I'll put out some calls to other hunters in the area as well, see if any of them have seen or heard anything. But what are we going to about our feathered friend here?"

"I'm coming," said Castiel.

"And staying in the car the whole time unless we figure out a way to make you look human," said Dean.

"I don't suppose you can just..." Sam made a gesture with his hands as though closing the pages of a book.

Cas shook his head. "Not without my Grace. I'm afraid they're stuck on this plane until I've healed sufficiently."

"Then we'll have to figure out something else," said the younger Winchester. "There's an entire bookshelf in spellbooks in the library. There's bound to be something useful."

Dean made a face. "Man, you know I hate all that witchy crap."

"Do you have a better idea?" said Sam.

*****SPN*****

After a little searching, Sam found a spell that put a what the book called a "glamour" over Cas' wings, rendering them essentially invisible as long as he didn't move them around too much. Or bump them into anything. At least they had healed enough that the angel could fold them up against his back reasonably well.

Meanwhile, Dean found a cane approximately the right size cane for Cas in one of the storage rooms (really, the Men of Letters had thought of everything), so that he would be able to walk without using one of the brothers for support.

"Ready?" said Dean, grabbing his pistol with one hand and Baby's keys with the other.

"You're driving, then?" asked Sam, stowing his own pistol.

"What kind of a question is that?" scoffed Dean, as though he hadn't spent their last road trip riding in the back seat of his own car.

Sam just shook his head. "You're not gonna puke on me, are you Cas?"

The angel gave him an unamused look.

"Hey, chuckleheads," said Dean from the driver's seat, "get in the car."

*****SPN*****

Checking the security footage at every gas station within a hundred miles of Sioux Falls was no small task. So the boys decided to split up, Dean taking Cas and Baby and Sam picking up a rental at the nearest Alamo lot.

Dean pulled Baby into the Shell parking lot and turned to the angel sitting shotgun. "Am I gonna regret giving this back to you?" he said, holding a plastic rectangle out it Cas' direction.

Cas squinted at the laminated rectangle and saw his own confused face looking back at him next to the letters FBI. He felt a warmth spread through his chest as he looked down at the false FBI badge the elder Winchester had made for him the last time he had tried his hand at hunting. "You kept it?"

"Don't get all emotional," said Dean. "I just never bothered getting rid of it." The hunter's gruff words did nothing to diminish Cas' pleasure as he took the badge. "Just hold it the right way up this time, will you?" added Dean. He got out of the cab and went around to help Cas.

"How do I look?" asked Cas anxiously, trying to catch a glimpse of himself in the Impala's mirror. He was worried that he didn't look very imposing, leaning heavily as he was on the Men of Letters' cane Dean had provided for him.

Dean looked the angel up and down, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You look good, Cas." He reached out to adjust the other man's tie and return a stray lock of hair to its proper place.

"But do I look like an FBI agent?" Cas insisted.

"The best," Dean assured him, barely suppressing a chuckle at the angel's earnestness. "I'm glad to have you as a partner."

*****SPN*****

"You hangin' in there, Cas?"

A dozen gas stations later and so far no luck. Cas' wings were starting to cramp and his muscles ached from the constant up and down in and out of the car, but he nodded to show Dean he was capable of continuing their search.

Dean must not have been convinced, though, as he said, "C'mon, let's take a break. He grabbed a couple of beers and the burgers he'd picked up at the last drive through they'd past from the back seat and took a seat on the hood of the car, holding out a bottle and indicating for the angel to sit next to him.

Clumsily, Cas attempted to clamber up onto the Impala's hood next to Dean.

"Careful!" said Dean, jumping down quickly. "You're gonna hurt my Baby. Here, lemme help you." He set his beer down and placed his hands on the angel's hips, lifting him up onto the hood of the car.

"Thank you, Dean."

"Don't mention it," said Dean, suddenly realizing that he was standing between the angel's legs. He hadn't removed his hands from Cas' hips either. His fingers strayed to where he knew the injury stretching across Car's chest and abdomen started. "Can I check...?"

The angel nodded and Dean tugged his shirt from the waistband of his pants, gently pulling that down to expose the milky white curve of Cas' hip. The wound was still an angry red, the skin puckered by the stitches Dean had put in. He ran his fingers over Cas' hip, following the line up his exposed stomach. The angel shivered.

"Sorry," said Dean. "Am I hurting you?"

Cas shook his head. "No. How does it look?"

Dean unbuttoned Cas' shirt, exposing the full breadth of both Cas' wound and his bare chest. "It's healing well," he said, "no more infection."

Cas went to button his shirt again.

"No, don't" said Dean, staying his hands.

Blue eyes met green.

"Last night," said Castiel slowly. "It really happened. I thought it might have been another dream."

Dean looked around. They were in the far corner of an empty gas station parking lot, their sight line mostly blocked by some overgrown foliage and a telephone pole. It was as much privacy as they were likely to get. "No, it wasn't a dream," said Dean, his voice almost as low as Cas'. "It really happened. You okay, Cas?"

The angel nodded. "I am quite alright, Dean. I only wish that my vessel—my body, wasn't marred in this fashion." He looked sadly down at the wrecked skin of his stomach.

"Shuddup," said Dean. "Scars are hot."

"Hot?" said Cas, pressing a hand to his abdomen. "I thought you said that there was no more infection."

Dean resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "It's an expression, Cas. It means, uh, it means I like to look at you," he said, mumbling the last part without looking the angel in the eye.

"Oh," said Cas, who apparently hadn't lost his angelically enhanced hearing. "I like to look at you too."

Dean chuckled at the awkward compliment, though really it was no more awkward than his own had been. "Yeah?" He stepped closer to Cas, wrapping his arms around the angel's waist and pressing a hesitant kiss to the place where the marred flesh cut across his chest.

Castiel shivered at the contact, his own arms coming up and around Dean's shoulders. Dean used a hand at the small of the angel's back to pull him even closer and Cas instinctively wrapped his arms around the hunter's waist for balance. Dean moved his mouth to Cas', running his tongue experimentally over the angel's lips. They tasted like beer and burger and ozone. The angel moaned, opening his mouth to Dean's probing tongue. His fingers dug into the muscles of Dean's upper back, which flexed in response. The only thought in the angel's head was the man who was currently kissing all the others right out of his head.

Dean felt a stirring at the front of his jeans in response to the movement of Castiel's tongue against his own and pulled away, feeling breathless and out of sorts. Cas made a small sound of protest, his cheeks flushed and his pupils dilated, almost obscuring the blue rings of his irises. His eyes pleaded for more, but Dean shook his head, stepping back out of the angel's embrace. He wasn't going to take his angel for the first time in the hood of his car in a gas station parking lot in the middle of South Dakota.

"Our beers are getting warm and our burgers are getting cold," said Dean, moving to sit beside the angel and picking up his burger. "And then we've gotta get back to the job. Every minute we waste is another minute farther away from us Claire gets."

Cas nodded reluctantly, buttoning up his shirt and then starting in on his own lunch, the taste of Dean still on his lips as he took the first bite. "I hope she's okay," he said, gazing up at the late September sky in that brooding manner that only Castiel could accomplish.

"Claire's a resourceful girl," said Dean. "She's survived on her own before. And that wasn't a jab at you," he added before the angel could open his mouth.

The two finished their lunches in silence, then Dean slid down off the car hood and helped Cas to the ground.

"Well," said Dean. "Those security tapes aren't going to review themselves. Let's go hit up some more gas stations."

"A prudent idea," said Cas, earning him a chuckle he did not understand. He led it go, deciding that he liked making Dean laugh, even when he didn't quite know the reason. Maybe if he paid attention, he would be able to do it intentionally in the future

 **AN: Claire! :) I had to bring Claire into the story, I've felt a special connection with her ever since I cosplayed her at SEA CON in March. I also love Jody (and Kim); it's nie to write some women finally! Lol. Thank you again for your patience and a special thanks to those of you who have reviewed. Keep them coming! :)**

 **-SQ**


	7. Chapter 6: A Seraph in the Living Room

**Author's Note: Gah! Sorry for the delay. Work has been busy and then as soon as I was ready with another chapter to publish, it was my turn to stay on the ship all week without internet to post it with. And to add insult to injury, it's a short chapter. In my defense, I've given you some very long ones as well.**

 **-SQ**

 **Disclaimer: I missed my boyfriend's (aka Sap Police) Season Premier Party because I'm in the middle of the ocean! I can't even watch the show right now; do you think I own it?**

 **Chapter Six: A Seraph in the Living Room**

Several hours and another dozen gas stations later, Dean could tell that Cas was flagging. Though the angel insisted he was fine, beads of sweat stood out starkly against his gray face and he was leaning ever more heavily on the cane, panting with the effort and struggling to catch his breath. Dean was worried that overexertion could cause a relapse of Cas' illness and insisted they call it a night.

"It's getting dark anyway," he reasoned, "and we're only a few miles from Jody's. Let's regroup there, have a home-cooked meal and a decent night's sleep, and start fresh tomorrow."

It seemed that Sam had had the same idea, as he showed up a short time after they did, tired, hungry, and still with no word on Claire.

"Where have you been?" Jody asked Castiel once the five of them, including Alex, had settled down at the table for dinner. "You look a little worse for wear, to put it mildly."

"I had something of a run in with some of my kin," said Cas. "They are...unhappy with some of my recent actions."

"He was tortured," Dean said flatly.

Jody sucked in a breath.

"So Claire was right," said Alex, speaking for the first time. "You were in trouble."

"There was nothing she could have done to improve my situation," said Cas. "I am glad she did not go looking for me sooner."

"I should have called her the minute we'd found you," said Dean. "Then she wouldn't have gone looking for you at all."

"But she did," said Jody, cutting Dean's pity party short. "So now the thing is to find her."

"She's right," said Sam, pushing his chair back from the table. "Thank you for dinner, Jody, it was delicious. Can I help you with the dishes?"

Dean and Cas got up as well, Dean catching Cas by the elbow when he stumbled.

"You alright?" Jody asked with motherly concern. "You'd better go sit down in the living room and take it easy. Sam, Alex, and I've got the dishes."

Dean slung an arm around Cas' waist and helped him into the living room, where he sank gratefully down into the couch.

"Let's go ahead and take that glamour off," said Dean. "I want to make sure you haven't done any more damage while you were bumping around today."

Dean rifled around in Sam's bag for a minute and pulled out the spellbook he had brought from the Men of Letters Bunker. He flipped it open to the appropriate page, which was bookmarked with a zip lock bag containing the necessary components of the spell.

He opened the bag, used the contents to trace the appropriate symbol in the seemingly empty space above and behind Castiel's head, and spoke the incantation. The illusion of nothingness melted off of Cas' wings like morning fog.

There was a sharp intake of breath from the direction of the kitchen. Dean and Cas looked over at the door to see Alex standing there with her hands over her mouth.

"Holy shit!" said the teenager. "What _are_ you?"

"Alex!" said Jody from behind her. "That was rude." She stepped into the living room, her eyebrows lifting when she saw the coal-black wings spread out on the couch behind Cas, but all she said was, "Well those aren't usually visible. You see something new every day."

"An after effect of Cas' little 'family reunion,'" said Dean darkly. "Apparently angels really know how to give it to each other."

"Angels?" said Alex incredulously. "Like Michael and Gabriel and all that Bible crap?"

"No," said Castiel, "those are the archangels, my elder brothers. I am only a Seraph."

"There is a Seraph in my living room," said Alex, shaking her head and walking up the stairs. "No one at school would believe this."

"Sorry about that," said Jody, tilting her head toward the stairs up which Alex had just disappeared. "We had just gotten into a good dynamic with Claire. And now her disappearance has upended the routine all over again."

"Not to mention having a Seraph in her living room," said Dean dryly.

Jody chuckled. "Yes, that too. Is there anything more I can do for you boys? Castiel looks like he could use a good night's rest."

"Several good nights' rests," said Dean. "But one will have to do for now. Sam, will you toss me my bag?"

Sam obliged, and Dean rifled around for a minute until he found what he was looking for: a tube full of ointment.

"Cas, if your wings got any stiffer, I think they'd snap in half in I blew on 'em," said Dean. He squeezed some of the ointment onto his palm. "Let's see if we can loosen them up. If you go to bed like this, you're likely to not be able to walk at all in the morning." He began massaging the ointment into the muscles of Cas' wings. The angel let out a grown of pain; that _hurt_.

"Sorry, buddy," said Dean, his hands not stopping in their ministrations. "No pain, no gain."

Sam winced in sympathy with the angel, knowing from experience that Dean's wasn't the gentlest of doctoring. Effective, certainly, but not gentle.

Dean mercilessly worked the kinks and knots from Cas' wings before moving to his neck and shoulders and down his back.

At first the pain made the angel grit his teeth in order to keep himself from pulling away from the hunter's not-so-gentle touch. But after a while he began to relax into the pressure and to actually enjoy the sensation of Dean's skillful hands on his wings and back. He couldn't deny that the targeted areas felt much better once Dean had done his work on them.

"There you go, Cas," said Dean, clapping the angel on the shoulders and arching his own back, hearing it creak and pop. Ugh, all the years in this life were taking their toll on him; he wasn't in his twenties anymore. "Better?"

"Yes, much," said the angel, rolling his neck and shoulders experimentally. "Thank you, Dean." He yawned.

"I think it's time for you boys to get to bed," said Jody. "We only have two empty rooms: Claire's and the guest room. So one of you will have to take the couch."

"Cas and I can bunk together," said Dean.

"I'm afraid there's only one bed per room," said Jody.

Dean faltered. He felt Cas shift on the couch next to him and knew without looking that his brother's probing eyes were fixed on them. Dean scooted over on the sofa, putting a few inches of distance between himself and the angel, but shrugged, feigning nonchalance, and said, "We'll figure something out."

The sheriff gave Dean and Castiel a long, considering look. "Well then," she said finally, " I'll go make up the rooms before one of you does fall asleep on the couch."

*****SPN*****

Cas was indeed half asleep on his feet and leaning heavily on Dean as Jody led them to the room usually occupied by Claire. The room certainly looked lived in; piles of clothes on the floor in front of the closet, makeup paraphernalia strewn across the vanity, a toppled over pile of books next to the bed. But it didn't look like somebody's home. There were no posters on the walls, no knickknacks decorating the shelves. The only personal touches were two photographs sitting side by side on top of the dresser. One showed a smiling Claire, about eight or nine years old, standing between her parents, who each had an arm around the little girl, as though promising to protect her from the world.

The second showed a much older Claire, the shadows of bitter experience lurking behind the smile that had been startled out of her by the bone breaking group hug Castiel and the Winchesters had swept her into.

"I remember that day," said Cas, looking at the photo.

"Yeah, me too," said Dean with a smile. "It was fun, taking a break from saving the world. Claire creamed me at mini golf, though," he added ruefully. He tossed Cas a pair of pajama bottoms and a t-shirt and began to strip off his own clothes.

It was only once his pajama pants and t-shirt were already on that Dean realized that he had just stripped down to his boxers in front of Cas without a second thought. He mentally shook himself. Earlier that day he had been making out with the angel on the hood of his car, and only the fact that they were more or less in public had kept it from going further; it was probably safe to say that they had reached the seeing each other in their boxers stage. Actually, come to think of it, Dean had seen Cas in less than his boxers, though that was hardly what he had been thinking about at the time.

"You need any help, Cas?" asked Dean, pulling his toothbrush and toothpaste out of his bag.

"Thank you, Dean, I think I can manage," said Cas, who was currently brushing his own teeth, elbows resting on either side of the sink.

Dean waited until Cas was done in the bathroom and then quickly readied himself for bed, stowing his meager toiletries and then hesitating beside the bed.

"I will be fine, if you would prefer to sleep on the couch," said Cas, sensing the elder Winchester's discomfort.

Dean, who had been about to suggest that very thing, changed his mind at the note of resignation in the angel's voice.

"Move over," he said instead, "the bed's big enough for two."

Cas obliged and felt Dean's weight settle onto the other side of the mattress.

"Night, Cas," said Dean's voice gruffly.

"Goodnight, Dean," the angel replied. He closed his eyes and as he began to drift off, he let himself think that maybe, just possibly, something was finally going right for him.

*****SPN*****

Dean woke to Castiel's wing hitting him in the face.

"Cas. _Cas._ " He shook the angel's shoulder. "Cas, wake up." He shook him harder. "Cas!"

The angel started awake. "Don't—!"

"It's just me," said Dean.

"Dean?"

"The one and only." He helped Cas sit up, smoothing his ruffled feathers. Then he grabbed the glass of water he had left on the bedside table for just this purpose and waited to speak again until Cas had emptied it.

"What did you see?"

"Claire," said Cas in clear distress. "They had Claire and they were..." he shook his head.

"It was just a bad dream," said Dean, tracing circles on Cas' forearm with his thumb.

"I wish I had my Grace, so I didn't have to sleep."

"Sometimes I wish I didn't have to sleep either," Dean agreed. "And sometimes I wish I'd never wake up."

Cas made a sound of frustration and shrugged Dean's hand off his arm. "I'm pathetic."

"Cas," said Dean, "you're not pathetic. Anyone would have nightmares after what you went through."

"What I went through?" said Cas. "You and Sam went to _Hell_."

"And you think we didn't have nightmares after that?" said Dean. "Sam literally went insane." He pulled Cas roughly toward him and kissed the side of his head. "You've been through more shit in the last seven years than the entire rest of eternity. Cut yourself a break. You'd've been a lot better off if you'd never pulled me from Hell," he added.

"You wouldn't," said Cas. "And I would still be a self-righteous dick."

Dean snorted. "Yeah, maybe." He stood up. "I've got to use the bathroom."

When Dean came out of the bathroom, Cas took his turn, and then they both returned to bed. But Cas found that no matter how he tossed and turned, he couldn't get comfortable. His muscles ached and the healing skin on his torso itched and burned, but it was more than that. He felt trapped, suffocated by his lack of Grace. He wanted to fly, to escape the confines and limitations of this damaged human body. He wanted to be an angel again, not a freaky man with wings. And that thought itself was so incredibly human, it made him feel sick.

"Hey Cas, you got ants in your pants or what? I'm trying to sleep here."

"No, Dean, there are no insects in my lower garments. I apologize for disturbing you. I find myself unable to sleep. I think perhaps I will take a walk." He sat up and reached for his cane, which was leaning against the bedside table.

"Leave it," said Dean, also sitting up. "I'll go with you."

"You need sleep," Cas protested.

"So do you," said Dean, "yet you're going on midnight walks. I'm not an idiot, something's up. Come on." Dean stood and looped an arm around Cas' waist and the two of them made their way out of the bedroom, down and out the back door.

Cas looked up at the night sky, his elbows resting on the porch railing. Dean mirrored his stance, following his gaze to the sprinkling of stars above their heads.

"Penny for your thoughts, Cas? It's an expression," he added before the angel could open his mouth. "It means, what are you thinking about? What's on your mind?"

"Ah." The angel was silent for several minutes. "I miss it," he said finally.

"Uh, you're going to have to be a little more specific, buddy."

"It. Everything," said Cas, opening his arms to indicate the sleeping world around them. "I used to be a part of it. It was a part of me. I could see and hear and feel and taste every living thing in the universe in a manner that goes beyond your human comprehension of the senses. And always, my brothers' and sisters' frequencies were turned on in my head. Now the little piece of Earth that I occupy at any given moment encompasses the entirety of my experience. And the only one inside my head is myself. It is...lonely."

Well, Cas certainly had some deep three am musings.

"You'll get it back though, won't you?" said Dean.

"My Grace, yes," said Castiel. "And the angelic powers that go with it; what you refer to as my 'mojo.' My connection with the other angels...right now it could be dangerous, if not downright deadly, for me to turn that back on, even once I can. I do not know if I will ever be able to go back to my family."

The sorrow in his angel's voice filled Dean's chest with guilt. It was because of him that Cas had turned his back on his brethren, had sacrificed his life and his sanity, had lost both his Grace and his place in Heaven. If Dean lived to be a hundred he could never repay that. He laid a hand on Cas' shoulder.

Cas covered it with his own. "Let's go back inside. I think I can sleep now. And we both need it."

Dean nodded, wordlessly offering his arm as support to the angel. They returned again to bed, Dean lying down first and opening his arms to Cas, who accepted the invitation, settling with his head on Dean's chest like a pillow. The hunter tangled his fingers in his angel's hair and they slept.

 **AN: I hope I got Cas' existential angst right, lol. And I'm serious, I haven't seen any of Season 12 yet. A little hard while stuck on board a cruise ship. We'll see if I can get an episode in today, in which case I'll only be one week behind. In any case, please, NO SPOILERS!**

 **-SQ**


	8. Chapter 7: Misty

**Author's Note: I'm back! I'm so, so sorry, my computer died. Completely. The hard drive failed. I managed to get it backed up first, but I haven't had a computer that will even turn on for over two months. Besides a phone, a tablet, and Chromebook that doesn't do documents that are compatible with anything else. And as I was on a cruise ship, I had no real way to get my hands on another device to even let you guys know what had happened. Or to write anymore, unfortunately. I still don't have my own computer now, but I have access to ones I can borrow to work on and post my stories.**

 **Anyway, here is the latest chapter. This one is rather special, as it features a cameo by a special guest ;)**

 **-SQ**

 **Chapter Seven: Misty**

 **Disclaimer: …Really?**

Castiel woke up confused and disoriented. Waking up was always disorienting for the angel, who under normal circumstances didn't sleep, but usually he at least had an idea of where he was and how he'd gotten there. He sat up and cast about for some clue as to his situation, his eyes lighting on the framed photographs sitting on the dresser. Claire. Of course. This was her room. Her bed. At Jody's house. He had slept here last night. With Dean. Which, in hindsight, seemed a little wrong, even though they hadn't done anything. Cas looked around again, but there was no sign of the hunter. He _had_ been here, right? Cas wasn't imagining things? He got up stiffly to empty his bladder, wondering if he was going crazy, again. But when he returned from the bathroom, he noticed a piece of paper lying on the bedside table. Cas picked it up and squinted at it, wondering vaguely if his vessel needed glasses.

 _Cas,_

 _Sam and I decided to get an early start and I didn't want to wake you. You can call me when you're ready and whoever's closest can swing by and pick you up._

 _Dean_

 _P.S. Have some of Jody's bacon, it's delicious_

Cas changed into jeans, a t-shirt, and a flannel, standard Winchester attire, and then shuffled down the hall to the kitchen, from which a wonderfully appetizing smell was emanating.

"Oh good," said Jody, looking up from the stove as Cas entered the room. "You're just in time for fresh bacon." She piled some onto a plate for him, along with a stack of pancakes. A moment later, the plate was followed by a large cup of coffee. "Here, looks like you need this."

"Thank you," said Cas, wrapping in hands around the warm beverage.

"Don't mention it," said Jody. "I promised the boys I'd take good care of you while they were out playing FBI."

"I do not like having to be taken care of," said Cas, frowning. "I am an Angel of the Lord. I am supposed to watch over them."

"That's the thing about family," said Jody, pouring herself a cup of coffee and sitting down at the table across from him, "it doesn't go just one way. Eat. Your breakfast is getting cold."

Cas ate—the bacon _was_ good—and then used Jody's phone to call Dean, since his still hadn't been replaced.

The hunter answered just before it would have gone to voicemail. "Hey Jody, sorry, couldn't get the damn thing out of my pocket."

"Dean, it's me."

"Cas, hey man, how are you feeling?"

"I am fine. Your note said to call you when I was ready to join you."

"Yeah, hold tight and I'll swing by and pick you up." The line went dead and Cas handed the phone back to Jody.

"Dean coming to get you?"

Cas nodded. "It would be a lot more convenient if I could fly," said Cas, shaking his damaged wings irritably.

"But you can't," said Jody practically. "Not on those."

Cas scolded over his shoulder at the offending appendages.

"Cheer up," said Jody, "it won't last forever."

The angel scrubbed a hand over his face. He couldn't let Dean see him like this. "You're right," he said, "it could be worse." He thought back to the nights he had spent sleeping on the floor of the back room of the Gas n' Sip. _That was Gadreel's fault_ , he reminded himself, _not Dean's._

Cas, at his own insistence, helped Jody clear the table. The job would probably have actually gone quicker without the angel's assistance, but the sheriff understood his need to feel useful.

When the kitchen was in order, Cas retreated to the living room and chose a book at random off of Jody's shelf to pass the time until Dean got there. He must have become so engrossed in the novel that he failed to register the sound of the Impala pulling into the driveway, because the next thing he knew, there was a pair of hands over his eyes, and a familiar voice was saying, "Good morning, Sleeping Beauty," in his ear.

"Dean," said Cas, starting slightly and twisting around to face the hunter, "you startled me."

"I have that effect on people," Dean teased. "Good book?" he asked, peering over Cas' shoulder to get a look at the title.

"An inaccurate and rather romanticized depiction of magic," said Cas, "but so far an engaging story."

"You can't go wrong with Harry Potter," said Dean with a grin. "Here, bring it with you, I'm sure Jody won't mind if you borrow it." He plucked the book out of the angel's fingers and marked his place before tucking it under his arm.

"Let's take care of those wings so we can hit the road," said Dean, grabbing the spellbook and readying the incantation. Castiel sat still as the hunter cast the spell, the odd sensation like icy ants crawling over his wings until they had disappeared from view.

Dean stood, stowed the spellbook, and wiped his hands on his jeans as though to clean the magic from them.

"You boys take care," said Jody, coming into the room dressed for work in her badge and uniform.

"We always do," said Dean, holding the door for her to go before him.

Cas pushed himself off the couch and followed Dean outside to where the hunter had parked his Baby. Dean helped Cas into the passenger seat, his hands lingering for a second on the angel's invisible but still tangible wings, then slid himself into t the driver's seat.

"Ready to rumble, Cas?"

"Rumble? I'm not sure I understand what you mean by—"

"Go, Cas. Are you ready to go?"

"In that case, yes, I am ready to...'rumble,'" he said, putting air quotes around the word with his fingers.

Dean chuckled, his green eyes dancing in a manner that did funny things to Cas' stomach. "Then let's rumble."

*****SPN*****

The gas station attendant looked up and audibly groaned when he saw Dean and Cas coming toward him through the door with their badges in hand.

"I already told the regular cops, I don't know anything else about the stolen car."

Dean and Cas looked at each other and back at the young man behind the counter.

"What stolen car?" asked Dean.

"The one that drove itself away from the pump four days ago. Isn't that what you're here about?"

"Drove itself away from the pump?" said Dean, wondering if they'd managed to stumble onto a case.

"Not literally," said the teenager in a tone that might as well have been followed up with 'Duh.' "Someone jacked it."

Not their kind of thing, then.

"We're not here about the car," said Dean. "We're investigating a missing person's case. Have you seen this girl?" He pushed a photo of Claire across the counter.

The young man, who couldn't have been any older than Claire himself, squinted at the photograph. "Yeah...yeah, I think I remember her." He scratched at his patchy, pubescent beard. "She came in the same day as the carjacking."

Dean and Cas exchanged a look. That was a pretty big coincidence, and Dean, for one, didn't believe in coincidences.

"She was hot," the kid added, earning him twin glares from Cas and Dean. "But I guess that's not pertinent to the investigation, huh?"

"Good guess," said Dean.

"She left with some guy in a suit, if that helps."

"It would help more of we could see the security footage from the day she was here," said Dean.

"Uh yeah, sure, go for it," said the teenage attendant. "But I have to stay out here at the counter or my boss'll have a cow."

"I don't understand," whispered Cas as he and Dean went into the back room. "What would that boy's boss do with a bovine? And what does it have to do with his being at the desk?"

"Oh for the love of... It's an expression, Cas. It means his boss'll be mad."

Castiel shook his head. "I will never understand some of the things you humans say."

Dean found the security tape from the day in question and started to play the footage on fast-forward, watching intently for any sign of Claire.

"There!" said Cas suddenly, grabbing the remote out of Dean's hand and freezing the screen on a grainy image of a blonde girl in a leather jacket with a tan rucksack slung over one of her hunched shoulders. The girl's back was to the camera, but there was no doubt in either man's mind that it was Claire.

Dean took the remote back from Castiel and restarted the footage, this time at normal speed.

Claire entered the gas station and made a beeline for the bathroom at the back of the building, carefully keeping her face turned away from the camera. A few minutes later, she emerged again and made her way down one of the isles, surreptitiously slipping a package of cookies and a box of Slim Jims into her jacket pocket. At the end of the isle, she found her way blocked by a tall, thin man in a business suit.

"Excuse me," she muttered, but the man didn't move. "Excuse me," she said a little louder, "you're blocking my way."

Instead of getting out of the way, the man took a step toward her. "Come with me."

"What, are you crazy? No way," scoffed Claire, starting back down the way she had come.

The man's hand shot out and grabbed her by the elbow. "Come with me," he said again, his tone unwavering.

"Let go!" growled Claire, aiming a blow at the mystery man's crotch. He wrenched her arm up behind her back and pulled her against him. Claire opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out. It was as though someone had robbed her of the use of her vocal chords.

"I only want to ask you a few questions," said the man. "About Castiel."

Claire stopped struggling. "What do you know about Castiel?"

"I know that he is missing. And that we are both trying to find him. I believe we can help each other."

Claire did some quick thinking. It was clear that this man was an angel or some other kind of unsavory being. Whatever he was, she would bet her sword it wasn't human, and she very highly doubted that he had Castiel's best interests at heart. However, he currently had the upper hand on her, quite literally, and there was a chance that he might have some useful information regarding the angel.

"Alright," said Claire. "I'll tell you what I know if you tell me what you know. But not here." She jerked her head toward the back door of the gas station and a moment later she and the mystery man had disappeared from the frame.

"That was an angel," said Cas. "I can't tell who with my Grace so limited, but it was definitely an angel."

"Son of a bitch!" said Dean, stopping the tape and throwing the remote across the room.

"We have to find her, Dean," said Cas urgently.

"Dammit, Cas, don't you think I know that! ?" snapped Dean. He ran a frustrated hand through his hair. "Yes, we need to find her. Let's go out back," he added, without much hope, "see if they left any clue to where they might have gone."

When they stepped outside, a relieved grin split Dean's face. "Well, wrap me in a bow and call it Christmas. She may have the makings of a hunter after all."

Castiel squatted to inspect the wingprints charred into the asphalt. "Definitely an angel," he pronounced. "And definitely dead."

Dean helped Cas back up to his feet, the hand that strayed briefly to the angel's cheek an unspoken apology for his earlier harsh words.

They searched the area but found nothing of further interest, so the hunter and the angel went back inside.

"Where's the security footage from the pump cameras?" Dean asked the teenage attendant.

The kid shifted uncomfortably. "Like I told the cops before, the camera's broken. We're waiting on a replacement but it hasn't come yet. Anyways, it's not my fault, I'm just working here to save money for college."

"Fan-freaking-tastic," muttered Dead. He drummed his fingers on the counter in irritation. "Do you at least have a picture of the stolen car?"

"I thought you weren't here about the car."

"Missing girl, missing car, you do the math."

The attendant rummaged around behind the counter for a minute and pulled out a computer printed photo of a blue 1970 Ford Mustang with a license plate number, name, and phone number handwritten on the paper underneath the picture.

"Nice car," said Dean appreciatively.

"Yeah, the guy had a conniption fit when he realized it'd been stolen."

"Some of us take our cars very seriously," said Castiel with a straight face.

"Let's get this back to the station," said Dean. "See what they can make of it."

"The station?" asked Cas, looking at Dean in confusion. "Oh, you mean Sa—ouch!" he finished, as Dean stepped on his foot.

"To the station," Dean repeated. "C'mon"

*****SPN*****

Claire quickly discovered that hot-wiring a car was one thing and keeping a low profile in a stolen, bright blue classic muscle car was quite another. She replaced the license plate with one she pried off of a wreck in a scrapyard at the first opportunity, but she still found herself taking a lot of side-streets to avoid unwanted attention from cops and concerned citizens. And one guy who kept trying to take a picture of the car. Her intended destination, based on information that her would-be-kidnapper had revealed, was Seattle, Washington. According to the recently deceased angel, this was the last place that Castiel had been seen.

The eighteen-year-old glanced at her phone on the blue-upholstered seat beside her. The message light had been blinking incessantly since the day she had left Jody's; no doubt the sheriff trying to get a hold of her. She felt bad for making her foster mother worry, but Castiel was in trouble and she couldn't afford any delays. Any _more_ delays, she thought in annoyance as she glanced down at the gas gage and found it nearly empty. Seriously, did Dean's car get such shitty mileage? Well, at least the Mustang was automatic.

Claire pulled the stolen car up to the pump and got out, feeding a portion of her quickly diminishing cash into the machine. As she waited for the tank to fill, she couldn't shake the feeling of being watched, and pulled her hood further down over her face.

The girl breathed a sigh of relief when the hose clicked, signaling that the tank was full, and she quickly withdrew the nozzle and returned it to its slot. She turned to get back into the car, and found her way blocked by a uniformed police officer.

"Carly Simon? We have orders to detain you for possession of a stolen vehicle."

Claire opened her mouth to tell the officer that her name wasn't Carly Simon, and then closed it again. There were only two people who would issue warrant for her arrest under the name of a 1980s pop singer, and she knew from experience that if they were in her tail, she'd only burn up the rest of her dwindling funds trying, and failing, to shake them. Besides which, she _was_ in possession of a stolen vehicle, and caught very much red-handed. At this point, the Winchesters seemed like her best bet at avoiding a prison sentence. So she grudgingly allowed the officer to cuff her and take her to the station to await the arrival of the "FBI agents," who had issued the missing person and stolen vehicle alerts, her brain already working out a way to ditch them if they still refused to believe that Castiel was in trouble.

*****SPN*****

It had been a stroke of brilliance on Jody's part, putting out the description of Claire and the stolen Mustang specifically to every gas station between South Dakota and Seattle. It had been Castiel who had correctly guessed that the other angel may well have pointed Claire in that direction. And Alex who had suggested that they check the nearby scrapyards to see if they couldn't figure out the number of the license plate Claire had undoubtedly switched with the Mustang's. All in all, Sam and Dean felt a little outfoxed at their own game.

But it was to Dean's cell phone that the call finally came in that Claire had been located and detained outside of Billings Montana.

"You up for the trip, Cas?" Dean asked the angel as he double checked the cache of weapons in Baby's trunk. "You can stay here with Jody and Alex while Sam and I go get her and haul her ass back up here."

"She is more likely to agree to come with you if I am also there," said Cas. "It is me she's looking for. And the last time she requested your help in doing so, you weren't exactly forthcoming."

Dean winced at the not-so-subtle reminder of how close his own pig-headedness had brought him to losing the angel. "You have a point. If you're feeling up to it, we'd welcome the company."

"What, I'm not enough for you anymore?" Sam joked, ducking his tall frame down into the passenger seat of the Impala.

"You're too much for me," Dean corrected, "that's why I need Cas, to act as a buffer."

"No thank you," said the angel. "I know better than to get in the middle of you two. It's like Michael and Lucifer all over again."

Sam chuckled. "Wise man. Come on, it's still at least an eight-hour drive to where they're holding Claire, and I'm sure the passing time isn't improving her temper."

*****SPN*****

"Miss Simon? The agents are here to collect you."

Claire stood, shouldering her bag, and caught sight of two familiar heads over the officer's shoulder. "Agents," she said, giving the Winchesters a sardonic salute.

The brothers scowled at her.

"We'll take it from here, officer," said Dean, as Sam took Claire by the shoulder and steered her toward the door.

"What about the stolen car?" the officer asked Dean.

"We'll take care of it," said Dean, not wanting the actual police more involved than they had to be. Plus, he wanted a closer look at the Mustang.

Claire waited until they had reached the parking lot and were out of the officers' line of vision before impatiently shaking Sam's hand from her arm.

"I'm not going to run, if that's what you're worried about. I'm not that much of an idiot."

"No one said you were," said Sam mildly.

"Though they'd certainly have a reason to," Dean cut in. "What were you thinking, hotwiring a car?"

"Oh, like you have room to talk," Claire scoffed. "I know how you two operate."

"That's not the point," said Sam. "You're not the only one out there looking for Castiel."

"Yeah, I kind of figured that when I had to stab an angel to death," said Claire. "Which maybe I wouldn't have had to do if that list of people had included the two of you. But since it seems you've finally taken your heads out of your asses long enough to realize something's wrong, are you going to stand around here scolding me, or are you going to help me find him?"

"I think you'll find that is no longer necessary," said a new voice.

Claire's head snapped around so fast that she nearly gave herself whiplash. "Castiel! ?"

The angel stood next to the Impala, an uncertain smile hovering about his face. "Hello, Claire. I do appreciate your dedication to looking for me, though I can't approve of your methods in doing so."

"You're alright! I thought—"

"You weren't entirely off the mark," said Castiel. "Though Sam and Dean had already found and rescued me by the time you left Sheriff Mills'."

"A good thing too, or you might have ended up somewhere far worse than a police precinct," said Dean darkly.

"What do you mean, they found you?" said Claire, pointedly ignoring Dean. "They weren't even looking for you."

Cas opened his mouth, whether to defend or further accuse Dean even he wasn't sure, but the hunter beat him to the punch.

"I should have listened to you," said Dean heavily. "You were right and I had my head too far up my ass to see it."

"Call the papers," said Sam, "Dean Winchester admits he was wrong."

Dean shot a glare at his brother. "I wasn't talking to you. Bitch."

Sam rolled his eyes and muttered something that sounded like "Jerk," under his breath.

Claire had to crack a smile, but her tone was still annoyed when she said, "What pulled it out, then?"

"An angel named Hannah." Claire gave him a look. "I know, I know."

"You could have called me."

"I did," said Sam. "Two days ago. You didn't pick up your phone."

"Oh."

"But we should have called you soonerd Dean quickly as the teenager opened her mouth again. "We were a little...preoccupied."

Claire seemed to be debating something internally. Then she suddenly stepped forward and embraced a startled Castiel, who nearly dropped his cane in surprise. He recovered himself and hugged her back, please by the usually standoffish girl's spontaneous show of affection.

"You're an idiot," she muttered into his collar. It was only when she pulled back that Claire noticed Cas' pallor and the cane he was leaning on for support. "What happened to you?" she asked bluntly. "You look awful. Are you sick?"

"No," said Castiel at the exact same moment that Dean said, "Yes."

"At least, I no longer have an elevated temperature," the angel amended.

"Angels get fevers?" asked Claire incredulously.

"Normally, no," said Cas. "My Grace was severely depleted during my time in Seattle. I am still recovering."

"Cas," said Sam, "you can fill Claire in in the car—"

"Wait!" said Claire. "I need my sword. It's in the trunk of the Mustang. Shit, I hope the police haven't found it."

"One step ahead of you," said Sam. "It's in the trunk of the Impala."

"And it's staying there," added Dean. "At least until we get back to Jody's."

Claire scowled at him, but didn't protest.

"Sooner or later one of the local officers is going to come out here and question why the FBI is standing in the parking lot chatting with their suspect instead of hauling her off for questioning," said Sam. "The sooner we get out of here the better."

"You're taking the Mustang," said Dean to Sam, nodding toward the blue vehicle, which had been towed to the station. I'll fix her up and take her back to her owner when I get the chance."

"Hey," protested Claire. "What do you mean fix it up? I'm a good driver, I know how to take care of a car."

"This, for one," said Dean, holding up the Mustang's real license plate. "Plus the damage from hotwiring her."

"Won't you have to hotwire it—her—to get it back to its owner?" Claire pointed out.

"You let me worry about that," said Dean. "Now get in the car."

Claire got into the back seat of the Impala, which was a lot less roomy than she remembered. "What the hell?" she said, twisting and turning this way and that in an attempt to find the source of the depleted space. She squinted at the back of Castiel's seat. "Is something there?

"My wings," said Cas. "I'm afraid they're stuck on this plane until my Grace recovers."

"Your _wings_?" said Claire. "Like honest to God angel wings?"

Cas nodded. "Grounded angel wings at the moment, but yes."

"And they're manifested on this plane, but they're invisible?" said Claire, sounding slightly disappointed.

"Only because Dean cast a spell on them," said Cas.

"You're casting spells now?" said Claire to Dean.

"It was a special circumstance," said Dean, feeling a little defensive.

"Can I see them?" asked Claire hesitantly, looking back at Castiel.

"When we get back to Sheriff Mills', I'm sure Dean will take the spell off again," said Cas.

"Wait," said Claire, "has Alex seen them?" Cas and Dean both nodded.

"No fair," said Claire. "She doesn't even like any of this supernatural stuff."

"And you do?" asked Dean.

Claire shrugged. "Some of it's pretty cool, most of it kinda sucks. But I'd rather be prepared than walk around with my head in the sand. It's not like I can un-know it exists. No matter how hard Alex tries."

"Cas has erased the knowledge from people's minds before," said Dean, thinking, with a small pang, of Lisa and Ben.

"Try that with me and I'll run you through with my sword," said Claire forcefully. "Like it or not, this is my life now; it's a part of who I am."

"You could do like Jody does," said Dean. "She knows about all this crap and how to deal with it, but she doesn't go looking for trouble."

"That's fine for her," said Claire, but I'm not Jody. I want to hunt."

"We'll talk about it when we get back to the house," was all Dean would say on the matter.

 **AN: But Snakequeen, why is the chapter called Misty? Who is the special guest? Why, Misty of course! My boyfriend's 1970 blue Mustang. That Claire has, um, borrowed…lol**

 **I hope you enjoyed the chapter (let me know?) and I promise there is more to come.**

 **-SQ**


	9. Chapter 8: Awkward Dinner Conversation

**Author's Note: Gah! With my ongoing computer troubles, I managed to lose the second half of the next chapter of this story. My brother is trying to recover it, but I may have to rewrite it, which will be a bitch. That's why I've been holding off on posting this chapter, but it's taken so long I wanted to give it to you now. I apologize for the inevitable delay on the next chapter.**

 **And yes, yes, it's** _ **that**_ **awkward dinner conversation ;)**

 **-SQ**

 **Disclaimer: *stares balefully***

 **Chapter Eight: An Awkward Dinner Conversation**

"Claire!" said Jody, the minute the travelers stepped through the door, folding the girl into a tight hug. "Thank God you're alright. Don't you _ever_ do that again," she added, sharply, pulling back and giving Claire her best Mom Glare before pulling the teen against her once more.

"Jody, c'mon, I'm fine," said Claire, casting an embarrassed look in the boys' direction as she wriggled out of the sheriff's embrace.

"Thank you boys for bringing her back," said Jody. "She can be a handful."

"Believe me, we know," said Dean, remembering the time Claire had tried to run him through.

"Would you like some dinner?" asked Jody. "Alex and I already ate, but I can heat some back up for you."

"Nah, we picked some grub up on the way back," said Dean. "Thank you, though. Right now I think we'd just like a nice sold six hours. At least." He nodded at Castiel, who looked like he might fall asleep standing up.

"Castiel can have my room," said Claire quickly. "I don't mind sleeping on the couch."

"Cas can sleep in the guest room," said Sam. "Dean and I will go get a motel room in town."

"I'm not going to let you sleep in a motel," said Jody. "You're my guests."

"Cas still needs someone to look after him," said Dean.

"I can look after myse—" started Cas, but Claire cut him off.

"I can keep an eye on him."

At that point, Alex appeared at the foot of the stairs. "Oh," she said, looking at Claire. "You're back." Claire nodded.

"Alex," said Jody, "would you mind if Claire slept in your room tonight?"

"Why?" asked Alex, looking from Jody to Claire and back again. "What's wrong with hers?"

"So that they boys can each have a place to sleep. It'll be like a slumber party."

Alex lifted a skeptical eyebrow and Claire snorted, the two in a rare moment of agreement.

"Woo-hoo," said Claire sarcastically.

"Come on, girls, it's just for one night," said Jody. "Two at the most."

Alex shrugged. "Whatever. But she's sleeping on the floor."

Dean didn't mention that this arrangement left one more sleeping space than was strictly necessary, and between breathing and staying awake, Castiel had other things on his mind. But the couch went unoccupied again that night.

*****Icarus*****

Castiel spent most of the following day resting. While he was feeling much better than he had since before his run-in with Jonah and Ephram, he was still tired and achy, to say nothing of his angelic powers, which were still non-existent. Cas was getting awfully sick and tired of being, well, sick and tired. And hungry. And needing to use the bathroom. He could barely remember the last time he had been at full angel power. He saw little of Dean, who was out back fixing up the stolen Mustang.

 _Or_ , said a little nagging voice in the back of his head, _he regrets what transpired between us and is just using that as an excuse to avoid you_.

 _But why would Dean avoid me?_ Castiel countered himself. _We're fine. We're—_ Well, to tell the truth, Cas wasn't entirely sure what they were. Outwardly his relationship with the hunter didn't seem to have changed much. There had been no more making out on the hood of Dean's car; no more kissing at all, actually. If anything, the hunter seemed even more skittish about his personal space than usual, at least during the day when other people were present. Nights were a little less clear. They had shared a bed for the past two, the taller man's arm draped loosely over Cas as they slept. And while nothing more had transpired since that first night, even the angel was aware that this went beyond typical straight male friendship behavior.

It was Claire who came to tell him that dinner was ready.

"Castie—Oh, _wow_." She stood in the doorway, the sight of the angel's extended and visible wings momentarily stopping her in her tracks. "Those are wicked."

"There is nothing malevolent about my wings," said Cas, frowning.

Claire laughed and shook her head, stepping fully into the room. "No, Castiel, it's an expression. It means they're cool. You know what that means, right?"

Castiel nodded, feeling rather pleased. "I have been told by my brethren that their true form is impressive."

The girl snorted. "Don't get a swollen head, or you'll have more trouble fitting through the door than you already do with those," she said, jerking her head at the feathered arches.

"Another expression, I take it?" said Castiel after a moment of consideration.

Claire nodded, her eyes still fixed on his wings. "Could I, um, touch them?"

"Gently," said Castiel, beckoning her over. "They're still healing."

Claire reached out and ran her fingers over the inky black feathers. "They're soft. For some reason I expected them to be, I dunno, sharp or something. Like steel."

"They're stronger than they look," said Castiel. "Though obviously not indestructible," he ruffled his feathers slightly; healing made them itch. "Is there a purpose behind your visit? Do you need something from your room?"

"What?" said Claire. "Oh, no, I mean, yes. No, I don't need anything from my room, but yes, there is a purpose. I came to tell you that dinner is ready."

"Thank you for informing me," said Cas, setting aside _Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone_ with a reluctance somewhat mitigated by the hollow feeling in his stomach. He followed Claire downstairs to the dining room where the rest of the piecemeal family were already seated rather tightly around the table.

The food looked and smelled delicious. Cas' stomach announced itself loudly, earning him amused looks from both Claire and Dean. His cheeks flushed at the decidedly un-angelic betrayal by his body, and he was glad when Jody diverted everyone's attention by passing the chicken to Sam.

"Ah, this bird is fantastic," said Dean, breaking the distinctly awkward silence that had fallen over the table. Cas looked at him—honestly "mouth full of roast chicken" was not the hunter's best look, but his enthusiasm over the food was endearing, and seemed to somewhat ease the tense dinner table atmosphere. Castiel wondered uncomfortably how much of that tension had to do with him.

Claire was giving Dean a very pointed look, which the hunter avoided by reaching across Sam and piling another generous helping of mashed potatoes onto his plate.

"Dude!" protested Sam, looking askance at Dean's overflowing plate.

"There's plenty left," said Dean, looking at Jody for confirmation.

"Yes, there's about four pounds left on the stove. Claire, do you have something to say or are you trying to bore a hole through the wall?"

"Dean knows," she said.

"Well, please enlighten the rest of us."

"I want to go with them."

"I told you—" started Dean.

"You told me we'd talk about it when we were here. Now we're here. And I want to talk about it. I'm not stupid, Dean. I know things are happening out there. Big things. Big enough to get the jump on an angel," she said, looking pointedly at Castiel.

"Which is exactly why you should stay out of it," said Dean.

"I agree with Dean," said Jody. "There's enough trouble to go around without going out and looking for—hey, put it back," she interrupted herself with a sharp look at Alex, who had just tried to take a drink from Jody's wineglass unnoticed. The teenager rolled her eyes, but returned the glass to its former position.

"I'm not a kid anymore," said Claire. "I haven't been for a long time. The angels took that away from me. And I'm not going to sit around and wait for whatever it is to take me by surprise. Weird stuff is happening. It's only a matter of time before it reaches us here. I'm going to be ready when it does."

"Claire did catch a werewolf," said Alex, taking a bit of chicken and mashed potatoes. "Oh right. It turned out to be a German Shepherd with rabies."

Claire gave her an unamused look.

"And before that was the vampire," said Jody, raising an eyebrow at her older foster daughter. "Councilwoman into erotic cosplay. I didn't know what cosplay was before that, super embarrassing for the whole force."

Cas, who didn't know what cosplay was either, opened his mouth to ask, but shut it again when Dean started to speak.

"Wow, you've been busy."

"I've been hunting," said Claire.

"AKA menacing innocent people," said Jody. "Claire has a whole string of assaults racked up. The only

reason she's not sitting in jail right now is that I'm the sheriff."

Castiel frowned at his vessel's daughter. "You were supposed to be staying out of trouble."

"So were you," she countered. "Look, I know I've been wrong, but there _are_ monsters out there, and I want to help you fight them."

Alex threw her fork down onto her plate. "Can we stop talking about monsters and hunting? What about real life?"

"Real life?" said Claire. A crafty smirk appeared on her face. "Okay," she said, her voice dripping with fake innocence that fooled no one, "yeah, sure, let's get real. You and Henry settle on a weekend yet?"

Alex's shoulders tensed. "What?"

"When you're sneaking up to Jody's cabin to screw yourselves silly."

Alex's jaw dropped. So did Jody's.

"Oh," said Dean, shooting a look at Sam and Cas and wishing himself anywhere but there. "Here we go."

"Um…we're not… You're completely insane," Alex snapped at her foster sister.

Claire, on the other hand, looked pleased with herself. "You might want to clear your G-Chats before you commit to that."

Sam hastily set down his fork and knife and made to rise from the table. "This seems like, uh, family business—"

"Sit," snapped Jody. Sam sat. "Stay."

Claire smirked. Cas frowned.

Jody took a moment to collect herself before addressing Alex. "Um, Alex, anything you want to say?"

 _Yeah, anything you want to say, Alex?_ Claire's body language practically screamed.

"Nope."

Sam shifted uncomfortably in his seat, looking at Dean for a means of escape, but the older Winchester actually seemed to be almost enjoying this.

"Okay," said Jody, lacing her fingers together over her forgotten plate. "Uh, well, um… I'm—I may have—" she tried again. "I've definitely seen birth control pills in your backpack."

"Oh, we're going there," said Sam, suddenly taking a great interest in his quickly cooling dinner.

Dean made a sound akin to a middleschooler when their classmate is called into the principal's office.

"Oh my _God_ ," said Alex, who couldn't seem to decide whom to glare at.

"Hey, if we can't talk about it, we shouldn't be doing it, right?" said Jody.

Neither Sam nor Dean looked too sure about this outlook, but Castiel thought that Jody had a point. He had never fully understood humans' squeamishness in regards to discussing the perfectly natural act of sexual intercourse. The shame and confusion he himself felt over the subject stemmed purely from his state as an angelic, and therefore supposedly asexual, being. Cas tried to catch Dean's eye, but the hunter was, typically, focused on his next bite of food.

"Right?" Jody repeated, also looking pointedly and much more blatantly at the Winchester brothers.

Sam just stared at her like a moose in the headlights

Dean managed a slightly more intelligent "What?" around his mouthful of potatoes.

"Okay," said Jody, realizing that she wasn't going to be getting any help from that front. "I'm not going to tell you that you're too young to be having sex. Or you," she added, pointing at Claire.

Alex made a scoffing noise. "Who's she going to have sex with? She doesn't talk to anybody."

Cas, who had opened his mouth to say that _he_ was just fine with telling Claire that she was too young to have sex (he had waited several millennia, after all) closed it again in favor of glaring at Alex.

"Hey," admonished Jody, pulling their attention once again. "What I will tell you is that birth control pills are useless against STDs. Whoever you are with needs to suit up. Every time. Always."

Again Cas tried to catch Dean's eye, this time to silently inquire just what the Sheriff was referring to, but both Winchesters seemed to be studiously avoiding eye contact with everyone present, human or angel.

"No pulling up the drawbridge early—"

"Uh, I get it!" said Alex, shuddering as Claire chuckled beside her. The blonde did manage to make eye contact with Dean, who gave her a kind of _Well, she has a point_ look.

"And," continued Jody relentlessly, "don't expect the guy, as much as I love Henry, to always show up packin'. Am I right?" This question was directed not only at Sam and Dean, but at Cas as well.

Cas, who was just beginning to get an idea of what Jody was talking about shrugged helplessly, to which

the sheriff responded with a _See, I told you_ gesture. Sam chose that moment to remember that he still had a mostly full plate in front of him.

Dean fell back on the response that had worked for him the last few times. "What?"

"Seriously?" said Jody.

" _Stop,"_ said Alex. "We haven't done anything yet. I'm just…trying to be prepared." She sighed and looked down as though this admission was embarrassing.

This time it was Jody who was left speechless. Well, Jody along with everyone else. Sam nodded in approval and Dean lifted his wineglass in a wordless toast.

"Great," said Jody, finding her voice. "Um…we need some more mashed potatoes, right? Mashed pota—I'm just gonna, I'm gonna…" she followed Dean's example and took a generous sip of her wine, then downed the entire glass. The brothers eyed her with a mixture of admiration and apprehension.

"I'm going to get some more potatoes," she declared, and disappeared into the kitchen with a last affirmation of, "Potatoes."

Claire, Alex, Sam, Dean, and Castiel exchanged glances across the table.

Dean caught Claire's eye again and smirked in a good imitation of the girl herself. "This is fun."

Claire laughed and nodded sardonically. Even Alex was smiling reluctantly. Sam and Castiel shared a look that clearly spoke of not being in on the joke.

"So," said Claire, after another moment of silence. "Can I go with you?"

"We'll talk about it after dinner," said Jody firmly, returning to the table. "Who wants more potatoes?"

*****Icarus*****

Dean pushed himself out from underneath the Mustang and bumped his head on a black boot.

"Hello, Cas" he said, craning his neck back to look upside down at the angel.

"Hello, Dean. Was the car badly damaged?"

"No," said Dean, righting himself and getting to his feet. "She's in surprisingly good shape." He patted the car's hood, his grin one part sheepish, two parts rakish. And 100% sexy. "Someone obviously takes good care of her. I just wanted a closer look. You know she's got all her original upholstery?"

"I don't know much about cars," said Castiel, tilting his head in that signature way of his that did funny things to Dean's chest, "but she does seem to be a nice one. I like the color."

"It's a bit flashy for my taste, but blue is growing on me," Dean agreed, though it wasn't the Mustang he was thinking of. "What brings you out here?

"I was looking for you," said Castiel, with his customary bluntness. "Sam said you were here."

"Well, you found me," said Dean, wiping his hands on his jeans. "What do you need?"

"Need?" said Castiel, cocking his head again.

"Yeah, do you need help with something or what?"

"No," said Cas. I do not require assistance."

Dean gave him a confused look. "Ok, well, as you can see, I'm a little busy, so—"

"Dean, are you avoiding me?"

The hunter froze half bent over the blue Mustang's hood. "What?"

"Because if you have changed your mind about our romantic involvement, all you have to do is tell me. I have no wish to force myself upon you." There was a note of melancholy in the angel's usually stoic voice.

"Cas, we've slept together for the past three nights."

"We have slept in the same bed for the past three nights," corrected Cas. "And not euphemistically."

"Actually the euphemism would be the way I said—oh, right, well never mind. Anyway, you're still recovering," Dean defended. "And I'm not screwing around in Claire's bed. No way."

"Not in Claire's bed," Cas agreed quickly. "That would be inappropriate. But I am feeling much better, and I would like to have a sexual relationship with you."

"Jesus Christ, Cas, you don't just say shit like that."

Cas tilted his head. "Why not? It's true."

Dean ran his hands through his hair, making it stick up in every direction. "You just don't, Cas."

"So you do not want a sexual relationship with me?"

"I didn't say that."

"Because you don't say shit like that?"

"Exactly."

"Ah."

The two men stood there awkwardly for a second and then Dean turned back toward the car. "It's about time I took her back to where she came from. You coming?"

*****Icarus*****

It took Dean and Cas two days to drive the nearly 1,500 miles to Seattle, where, ironically, the blue Mustang and her owner were from.

Sam had taken the Impala on a detour through Wyoming to check up on a possible lead—"Might be a vamp, probably nothing, either way I'm a big boy, Dean, I can handle it on my own."—but promised to pick them up in Seattle once they had returned the Mustang.

Or, rather, Sam and Claire, who had refused point blank to remain in Sioux Falls with Jody and Alex.

"If you won't take me with you, I'll leave again on my own."

"And I'll haul your ass right back here," said Jody.

"I'm eighteen years old, I can do what I want," retorted Claire.

"That attitude isn't going to fly with us any more than it does with Jody," warned Dean. "You live in our bunker, you follow our rules."

"That means if we say stay home while we work a job, you stay home," said Sam.

"Here, your little teenage rebellions can get you grounded," said Dean. "With us they could get you dead."

"I know how to hunt," said Claire indignantly.

Yeah, we'll see" said Dean.

"And what about your schoolwork?" said Jody, who had been looking back and forth between the boys as though she couldn't quite believe that they were actually considering this. "The new quarter is about to start."

"The University of Sioux Falls offers online classes," said Claire, to everyone else's surprise. "What? I knew none of you would let me go if it meant me dropping out of school, so I looked it up. I was considering it anyway—more flexibility, better for hunting. And it's not like I'm going to miss any of those losers."

"You're really serious about this," said Cas, speaking for the first time during this exchange. "About being a hunter."

Claire nodded. "As serious as any of you. And I have as much of a reason."

The angel considered his vessel's daughter, who returned his gaze without looking away. "I think we should let her come along."

Jody was obviously still against the whole idea, and Sam put up his hands and shrugged in a "not my call" kind of gesture, so Dean realized that he would have to be the deciding vote. "Sam, take her with you to Wyoming. If she royally screws up, bring her back here. If not, we'll see you both in Seattle."

*****Icarus*****

The drive from Sioux Falls to Seattle was largely silent and uneventful. Dean kept sneaking glances at Castiel to see how he was holding up, but, while still apparently graceless, the angel seemed to have by and large recovered physically from his misadventure.

The Mustang was no Baby, but she drove well, the engine purring contentedly at Dean's skillful handling. Her owner obviously took good care of her. Dean also approved of the Def Leppard sticker on the dash, but not so much the shiny new iPod speaker system the car's owner had installed.

"First Sammy, now this guy. What's wrong with good old fashioned cassette tapes?" he grumbled.

Cas, who was examining another sticker that he was pretty sure referenced Carver Edlund's Supernatural books, wisely decided not to comment on either the iPod dock or the sticker, and the two men lapsed back into a comfortable silence, punctuated by the purr of the Mustang's engine. Ten minutes later, Dean gave in and plugged his phone into the speaker.

 **AN: Let me know what you think!**

 **-SQ**


	10. Chapter 9: Corner Mart Vampires

**Author's Note: Dammit. I lost part of the story, which upset me, so I stopped working on it for a while, then I finally sucked it up and rewrote it. Then I got on a ship for 6 months, had a great contract, and didn't barely write at all. I'm still working with a crap computer and a crazy schedule, but I hope some of you have stuck with me.**

 **Disclaimer: You know.**

 **Chapter Nine: Corner Mart Vampires**

Sam and Claire checked into a rundown hotel on the edge of town, near where the body of an out-of-town visitor had been found.

"I'm going to the bar, as around, see if anyone's seen or heard anything. You stay here."

"What?" Claire demanded. "Why?"

"Because it's a bar. And you're eighteen."

"I have a fake."

"No."

Claire scowled at Sam, but didn't press the issue.

"I'll see you later, then," said Sam, tucking a machete under his jacket. Stay out of trouble."

Claire nodded grudgingly. "Yeah, yeah, you too."

"Call me if you need anything," they said at the same time.

Sam cracked a smile, which Claire returned. "I left some money for you to order yourself a pizza or something."

"Thanks. Let's hope the delivery guy isn't a vampire," she joked.

"Well, if he is, you can handle him, right?"

Claire snorted.

"No worries, then."

"One large pizza, extra pepperoni, hold the vampires."

Sam shook his head, laughing. "Bye, Claire, enjoy your pizza."

"Bye same, enjoy your bitches-I mean beer," the girl amended with a smirk.

*****Icarus*****

It turned out that the local pizza place was dine in and carry out only (seriously, what kind of pizza place didn't deliver?). But luckily it was within walking distance of the motel, so Claire pulled on her jacket and trudged the few blocks down the street to pick up her order. As she was walking back, her arms full of cardboard pizza box containing a hopefully non cardboard-like pizza, she decided to stop by the convenience store for a couple beers or sodas, depending on whether or not they accepted her fake.

The guy at the counter seemingly couldn't care less, barely glancing at the card before handing it back to her

She turned around, balancing the six-pack on top of the pizza box and came face to face with a vampire.

Claire quickly lowered her head and ducked into the next aisle, her heart pounding. As quickly as she could, without arousing suspicion, she made her way to the exit and then pulled out her cell phone and called Sam.

"Hey Claire, what's up?"

"I found the vampire."

"What? How? Where are you?" Sam demanded Why aren't you at the motel? I told you to stay put."

"You also told me to get pizza," said Claire, "and the pizza place doesn't deliver. I popped into the Corner Mart to pick up some beer and ran into a vampire. Almost literally."

"What happened? Where's the vamp now?" asked Sam

"Inside buying..." Claire peered through the window, "looks like...stain remover. I'm outside the store."

"A vampire is in the Corner Mart buying stain remover" said Sam incredulously.

"Probably for bloodstains," said Claire with a shrug.

"Ok, how many people are injured?" asked Sam.

"No one's injured," said Claire. "Not here anyway."

"So the blood is from a previous victim?"

"What?" said Claire. "What blood?"

"The bloodstains. You just said..."

"I said the stain remover was probably for bloodstains, because, you know, vampire. But there are't bloodstains here right now."

"Wait, the vamp hasn't attacked anyone yet?"

"I mean, yeah, probably, that's why we're here, right? But not right now, no."

"Then, wait, how do you know it's a vampire?"

"Because I recognized him," said Claire. "It's one of Alex's."

"One of Alex's whats?" said Sam in confusion.

"One of Alex's vampires. You know, the ones she used to live with." Why were adults always so slow?

"Are you sure, Claire?" said Sam skeptically. "How do you even know what they look like?"

"I've seen her drawings of them," said Claire. "She's very good. Wait, he's coming out of the store now." Claire retreated into the shadows and the vampire left the Corner Mart and started down the street at a brisk pace."

 _"Stay where you are,"_ said Sam. "Wait for me."

"No way," said Claire. "I've got to follow him and see where he goes."

"Claire! Wait. _Claire!_ Dammit." Sam glared at the phone in his hand. If Claire really was following the vampire, which he had now doubt that she was, he couldn't risk drawing the vamp's attention

to her by continuing to shout into the phone. Luckily Claire had left the call connected, so with a couple minutes work, he was able to ping Claire's phone on his GPS and use it to track her.

*****Icarus*****

Claire followed the vampire through the streets of the little town, staying just close enough not to lose him without attracting unwanted attention. Namely the vamp's, though it would have been awkward to have some rando notice her trailing him like a creeper. The vamp maintained a brisk pace, but luckily it looked as though he had run his errand on foot, as he headed straight for the edge of town without getting into any of the smattering of of parked vehicles they passed. He led her away from the town proper until the streets disappeared completely and were replaced by a dirt road lined with fields, barns, and farmhouses. It was at one of these that the vampire finally stopped, turned, and entered a building just beyond, which looked to be an out of use storehouse of some kind.

Claire hid herself around the corner from the door of the storehouse and then pulled out her phone and put it to her ear.

"Sam? You still there?"

"Right behind you," said a voice from over her shoulder.

Claire jumped and whirled around to see the younger Winchester materialize from the shadows.

"You nearly gave me a heart attack!" she whispered, her heart still pounding. "How did you get here so fast?"

"I have a car," said Sam, earning him an eye roll and a glare. "And I've been tracking your phone."

"Creeper," said Claire.

Sam ignored her. "Any idea how many we're dealing with?"

"So far I've only seen the one," said Claire. "But that doesn't mean shit."

Sam nodded his head. "Do you have a weapon?"

Claire bent down and pulled a wicked looking knife out of her boot. "You?"

Sam opened his coat and showed Claire the machete.

"Nice. Wish I had my sword, but this'll have to do."

Sam cocked his head and put a finger to his lips; the sound of voices was coming through the storehouse door, which the vampire had left slightly ajar.

"-sure you weren't followed?"

The voice was female. And snappish.

"Who would follow me?" said a second voice. Male. Bored. "No one knows we're here."

"No one _knew_ we were here. After the stunt your little protege pulled, it's only a matter of time before the hunters start poking around here. We have to move."

"We only just got here," complained a third voice. This was also male, but younger; he sounded like a petulant teenager.

"You should have thought of that before you decided to have your little snack the other night."

"I was hungry!"

"He's young, Jill," said the first man, presumably the one Claire had followed. "Cut him some slack."

"I have none to spare," said the woman icily. "We have a job to do, Duncan, we don't have time to be cleaning up after some adolescent's lack of control. I don't know why you had to turn him in the first place."

"Someone has to worry about replenishing the nest," retorted Duncan, "since it seems all you can focus on is revenge."

"It's more than revenge and you know it," said his companion, her voice taking on a dangerous edge. "This _is_ about the nest, and reclaiming what's ours."

Sam and Claire looked at each other, knowing what the other one was thinking without the need for words. _Alex_.

"And how exactly were you planning on doing that?" asked Duncan. "Knocking on her door and asking nicely? She won't come willingly and you know it. Toby here can do for her what she did for the others."

It seemed as though there were only three vampires in the storehouse, which wasn't bad odds, all things considered. Especially if they had the element of surprise on their side. Sam knew they had to act quickly to maintain this advantage, but the question was, with three vamps and only two of them, which ones to take out first? The female, Jill, seemed likely to pose the biggest threat; if both of them went for her they might be able to take her out first. But that left the other two vampires wide open. On the other hand, the youngster would likely be fairly easy to off, which would make for an even two-on-two battle. Minus the whole human versus vamp unequal speed and strength thing.

"The ones closest to the door," whispered Claire.

"What?"

"We should go for whichever ones are closest to the door first."

"Oh," said Sam, realizing he had once again been over analyzing the situation and making it more complicated than it had to be. "That's uh, a good idea."

Claire smirked and hoisted her weapon, then, with a nod from Sam, burst into the storehouse at the tall hunter's side.

Claire took out the teenage vamp almost instantly, severing his head from his body with one clean stroke of her hunting knife.

The second male was obviously more experienced, and even with the element of surprise, it took Sam several seconds of grappling before he managed to hack the vampire's head from his shoulders. He straightened up to see the female vamp holding Claire's own knife to her throat.

"One more step, hunter, and your baby sister gets it."

Neither Sam nor Claire bothered to correct her.

The vampire narrowed her pale blue eyes at Sam, not relaxing her hold on Claire.

"I know you," she said slowly. "You're one of those damn Winchesters. Where's your brother?"

"That's for me to know and you to find out," said Sam, realizing that he could actually use Dean's absence to his advantage.

The vampire's eyes darted around the room nervously, but she stood her ground. "How do I know you're not bluffing?"

"You don't," said Sam evenly, not letting his voice betray his pounding heart and his worry for Claire. "But is that a chance you're willing to take?"

"She'd be dead before either of you could get to her," the woman retorted.

"Maybe," said Sam. "Although people sometimes have a hard time getting death to stick to us and ours." He jerked his head toward the two decapitated vampires. "You don't seems to have that problem."

"The way I figure it," said the vamp, who was now idly twirling Claire's knife between her fingers as though she were rather enjoying this, "you get your way, I die no matter what. Or were you planning on letting me go if I release the girl?" she added sardonically.

"So you can go after Alex?" scoffed Claire. "In your dreams, Cruella."

"I'd be a little more careful what you say, Blondie," the vampire hissed in Claire's ear, pressing the point of the knife against the back of her neck. "You wouldn't want my hand to slip..."

"And lose your only bargaining chip?" retorted Claire.

"Just what would I be bargaining for? You already said I'd die either way?"

"Then why am I still alive?"

Jill the vampire grinned, showing her fangs. "Because I'm still having fun."

A chill went down Sam's spine as he realized the vampire was right; she had nothing to lose.

Claire, however, had been doing more than just arguing with her captor. Sam realized that while the female vampire's attention had been diverted, Claire had picked her pocket, divesting her of a pocket knife, a wallet, a set of keys, and, most interestingly, a syringe full of what appeared to be dead man's blood. It seemed Jill the vampire hadn't been completely trusting of her companions.

"So targeting teenage girls is your idea of fun?" said Sam, hoping to keep the vamp distracted for long enough to give Claire an opportunity to strike.

"A trait I share with many human men, it seems," said the vampire in a tone of genuine disgust. "All in all, I prefer what I do with them."

"Yes, because murder is so admirable."

"I only kill when I have to," said Julie, as Claire surreptitiously dropped the syringe from her sleeve into her palm. "They're so much more useful when they're alive."

"Like Alex was useful?" said Sam.

"Precisely. It wasn't such a bad life, was it?" she continued, her voice taking on a purring tone that fell somewhere between seductive and soothing. "We kept her safe and fed, gave her a home and a family. She could have ended up with a much worse lot than that. You know she was still a virgin when she left us? How many girls who end up in similar positions can say the same? But no one ever laid a hand on Alex, I made sure of that. I take care of my girls. Can the same be said of you, Winchester?" she added, her expression calculating, her tone almost accusatory. "Where's that redhead you used to keep around?"

"You leave Charlie out of this," Sam growled.

Whatever the vampire might have said in response was cut short by Claire jabbing the syringe of dead man's blood full force into Jill's shoulder. The woman gasped and clutched her shoulder in agony, whipping around with the obvious intention of stabbing the young hunter with her own knife. But the poison has already begun to take its effect and she staggered, dropping the knife on the stone floor with a clatter. Sam didn't waste his opportunity, and easily beheaded the incapacitated vampire with one clean sweep on his machete.

"Ew," said Claire, nudging the vamp's head away with the toe of her sneaker so she could retrieve her knife.

"Are you okay?" Sam asked as the girl rejoined him on the other side of the room.

"Yeah," said Claire, shrugging off his concern, though in truth she appreciated it. "I've had worse." Her stomach chose just that moment to growl loudly. "What I haven't had yet tonight, though, is food."

"You didn't manage to hold onto your pizza while you were hunting vampires?" Sam teased.

"Ha ha, very funny," said Claire sarcastically. "No, that wasn't exactly at the forefront of my mind."

"We can stop somewhere on the way back to the motel," said Sam. "I passed a 24 hour diner on my way here that was advertising bottomless ribs."

"Count me it!" said Claire fervently, as her stomach gave another insistent grumble.

 **AN:** **I do already have a few more chapters drafted after this one, and I'm finally getting to a part I've been wanting to get to for ages, so I'm definitely excited about where this story is going, and I hope you are too :)**

 **-SQ**


	11. Chapter 10: Reunions

**Author's Note: The last part of this chapter and the next were a pain in the ass to write, lol. Because they cover events from an actual episode, so I had to painstakingly go through the episode to piece them together. The first part I got a huge kick out of writing, because it's the culmination of a special cameo.**

 **Enjoy!**

 **-SQ**

 **Chapter Ten: Reunions**

Dean and Cas cruised down the Seattle street in the stolen Mustang, her engine purring as though she knew she was almost home. Dean drummed his hands against the steering wheel as they waited for the light to change, keeping time fittingly with Def Leppard's Rock of Ages. Castiel was taking in the city with interest, not really having gotten the opportunity for sightseeing on his previous visit.

The light turned green and Dean turned the car onto the street where her owner lived. In his exploration of the car, Dean had found an automatic garage door opener tucked between the ceiling and the sun visor, which he now used to let them into the building's parking garage.

"Welcome home, girl," said Dean, pulling into an open spot and killing the engine.

He got out the the car and moved around to open the passenger door, whose interior handle and locking mechanism were a bit tricky, for Cas.

The angel climbed out, thanking the hunter with a nod, and stepped aside so that Dean could close the door again.

"Give me a minute to fix up the wires, and then we'll go find this guy with the good taste in cars."

Ten minutes later, Dean and Cas were stepping out of the elevator on the third floor, Dean having easily picked the building lock from inside the parking garage.

Dean paused to check himself out on the hallway mirror, adjusted Cas' tie, which was crooked as usual, and then knocked on the apartment door.

The muffled sounds of a videogame stopped, and thirty seconds later, the door was opened by a confused looking redhead wearing pajama pants and a _Star Wars_ shirt.

"Uh, hello?"

Dean cleared his throat. "Benjamin?"

"Yeah, that's me."

Dean peeked over the guy's shoulder into his apartment and Star Wars Guy moved to block his view.

"Can I help you?" he asked pointedly.

"Yeah, sorry," said Dean, "just admiring your posters. Def Leppard, nice."

Star Wars/Def Leppard Guy relaxed marginally. "Thanks, they're my favorite band."

"Rock on," said Dean appreciatively.

"I assume you're not here just to complement my taste in music," said Benjamin.

"No, you're right," said Dean. "We have your car."

"What! ? Really? ? Holy shit! _Where! ?_ " The words tumbled out of his mouth so fast they were nearly unintelligible.

"Whoa, slow down there, tiger," said Dean, putting a hand out to stay the frantic man. "She's down in the garage, waiting for you."

Benjamin the Mustang Guy shook his head in disbelief. "How did you get her?"

"Yeah, well, about that."

"My, ve-I mean, my daughter stole her," said Cas. "I am sorry for the inconvenience."

"She's none the worse for wear," added Dean. "I made sure of that."

"I'll be the judge of that, thanks," said the Mustang's owner, grabbing a set of keys off a hook on

the wall.

The three men took the elevator down to the parking garage, the redhead jangling his keys anxiously against his thigh. When the doors slid open, he practically ran through them toward the blue car parked near the garage entrance.

"Holy shit," he said again, running his hands over the hood and then down to inspect the body of the car. Misty, where have you _been_?"

"Just about every state between here and South Dakota," said Dean, rocking back on his heels, hands in the front packets of his jeans.

"She's in good shape," said Benjamin, his tone somewhere between grudging and grateful as he straightened up from his preliminary inspection.

"She is a beauty," said Dean. "I'm a car guy myself. '67 Impala."

The other man whistled appreciatively. "Damn. Do you have her here?"

Dean shook his head. "My brother has her. They had to take a bit of a detour, but we're due to meet back up soon."

"Ah, to bad, I would've liked to see her. Sorry, I never got your names."

"Dean," said Dean, offering his hand. He wasn't quite sure why he was giving this man his real name, but there didn't seem to be any particular reason not to. "And this is my, uh, partner, Cas," he added, faltering a bit on the title, which took on a rather different meaning outside their usual cover as FBI agents.

A quizzical look passed momentarily across the Mustang's owner's face as he accepted Dean's handshake.

"BJ. Nice to meet you. I think."

Dean chuckled. "Likewise. Sorry about your car."

"Dean," said Cas, who hadn't missed the flash of half-recognition on BJ's face at the mention of their names. "We should get going."

"I guess you're right," said Dean. "BJ. Misty," he added, nodding to the Mustang.

The hunter and the angel strode out of the parking garage and back into Seattle's cloud filtered sunlight. Away from the confines of walls and cars, Cas rolled his shoulders and stretched his invisible but still very corporeal wings. The feathers were starting to grow back over the scars, but their continued exposure to the mortal plane of existence was making them ache.

Though Cas had tried to make it subtle, Dean caught the movement. "Are you feeling alright, Cas? Are your wings bothering you again?"

"It's nothing," said the angel, brushing off the other man's concern. "They just get cramped when confined to finite spaces." _Like this plane of existence._

Dean checked his phone and saw that he had a text from Sam.

 _There were vamps. Claire and I took care of them. We should be in Seattle sometime this evening._ _Let us know where we should meet you._

*****Icarus*****

"You hungry, Cas? There's a burger joint somewhere around here with a name you'll get a kick out of. Once I explain it to you."

"I'm looking forward to it," said Castiel, with an earnestness that bordered on sarcasm.

*****Icarus*****

Sam and Claire made good time and pulled into the motel parking lot just after dark.

"There's my Baby," said Dean, patting the Impala's hood before lifting it up to check the fluids.

"Dean," complained Sam, "I know how to take care of the car."

"Just making sure, Sammy," said Dean, straightening up again. "Heya, Claire. Doin' alright?" The girl nodded. "Heard you held your own with the vamps down in Wyoming."

She nodded again. "It was the rest of the nest that Alex was part of."

Dean looked to Sam for confirmation; his brother nodded.

"Yep. They were on their way to Sioux Falls."

"Huh," said Dean. "Remind me to call Jody and tell her she owes us a favor."

"More like we owe her one less favor," Sam corrected.

"Good point," Dean conceded.

Sam and Claire got a second motel room across the hall from Cas and Dean's. Out of habit, Dean had asked for two beds. Well, habit and not wanting to explain himself to Sam and Claire. It wasn't any of their business how he and Cas slept anyway. Which, tonight, would have to be in separate beds; Dean's days of sharing a twin bed with anybody else when the purpose was actually sleeping

had ended when Sammy was six-years old and Dean had woken up on the floor.

*****Icarus*****

"Here we are," said Sam, pushing open the door to the Bunker. "Home sweet home."

Claire stepped in behind him and looked around, her eyes going wide in appreciation. "This is sweet! In a 'turn of the century mad scientist' kind of way. It's like the Brothers Grimm meet Frankenstein."

"You have no idea," said Sam with a grimace. "Add in Oz and you've got a pretty accurate description."

"So, what is this place, anyway?" asked Claire, going over to inspect the telescope at the far end of the room.

"The Men of Letters Bunker," said Dean, coming out of the kitchen and tossing Sam a beer. "Family inheritance, in a manner of speaking."

"A very loose manner," said Sam, setting his beer down on the table. "Follow me, we'll get you set up in your room."

Claire followed Sam up the stairs to the second floor and a short way down one of several branching hallways. The room was large and comfortable for an underground safehouse. It was obvious that the Men of Letters had cared a bit more about creature comforts than the hunters had. Or did, for that matter.

Claire threw her rucksack down on the bed and gave the mattress a test bounce. Nice. She hadn't been in a bed this comfortable in ages. Maybe ever. As she kicked off her shoes, something carved into the headboard caught her eye. It was a name, one she had already heard once recently.

"Who's Charlie?"

Oof. That one hurt. And it must have shown on Sam's face, because Claire continued, "Uh-oh. What happened to him?"

"Her," said Sam heavily. "And she's dead. She was a hunter. Well, a hacker, really. And a friend, who got involved in the life because of me and Dean. She tried to get out, but..." Sam shrugged helplessly. "That's easier said than done. She was killed protecting the Book of the Damned. I think you would have liked her," he added.

"I hope you don't make a habit out of getting your pretty, young sidekicks killed," said Claire with an exaggerated toss of her blonde hair. Sam was silent. "Relax, Sam, I know what I'm getting myself into. Anyway, I'm definitely not a sidekick."

Sam rolled his eyes. "We'll see about that. Goodnight, Claire."

"Goodnight, Sam, don't let the werewolves bite."

The kitchen was empty when Sam returned-it appeared both Dean and Cas had gone to bed as well. Feeling too restless to sleep, Sam grabbed his beer and his jacket and slipped outside for a nighttime stroll. It took several minutes for Sam to put his finger on what he was feeling, and when he did, he mentally berated himself for it. What right or reason did he have to feel lonely? Missing those who were gone wouldn't bring them back. He still had Dean. And Cas. And now Claire. They were his family. Tossing his empty beer can into a trash bin, he shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, and was surprised to find them not completely empty.

Withdrawing his hand, Sam squinted at its contents. The dim light of the streetlamp glinted off the golden edges of a creamy white feather, the one he had completely forgotten about finding on the floor of the bunker weeks ago. It still looked like no feather Sam had ever seen before. It was soft and surprisingly heavy for its size, at least heavier than one would expect a feather to be. Sam rubbed it back and forth between his thumb and index finger, finding the sensation strangely comforting and compelling at the same time.

"Where _did_ you come from?" he muttered aloud, turning back toward the bunker.

*****Icarus*****

"Wake up, sleepyhead," said Dean loudly, smacking the back of his brother's sleeping head. "Have you been here all night?"

"Huh?" said Sam, jolting up and reaching instinctively for his gun. "Don't _do_ that. I could have shot you."

"Yeah, right," Dean scoffed. "My reflexes aren't that old yet. What are you doing?"

"Research," said Sam, working a kink out of his neck. "I must have dozed off."

"Amara?" said Dean, opening the fridge and pulling out a package of bacon and a beer. "You find anything?"

"What? No. I mean, yes, I was looking for stuff on Amara," said Sam, hastily closing the copy of _The Once Living Arcane: Artifacts from Supernatural Creatures_ he had been using as a pillow. "No, I didn't find anything."

"Because you were sleeping on the job, said Dean.

"What are you talking about?" asked Cas, who had been lured out of bed and into the kitchen by the smell of frying bacon.

"Nothing," said Dean in exactly the same tone Sam had used moments before.

Sam gave his brother a weird look. "Amara. We still don't have any leads on her whereabouts. You could be helping me look, you know, Dean. Not too long ago she was your main interest. You were practically obsessed."

"Yeah, well, obsession isn't healthy," said Dean, taking a swig of his beer.

"Neither is beer for breakfast," said Cas disapprovingly, trying to take the bottle away from the hunter.

"Mind your own damn business, Cas," Dean grumbled. "Who do you think you are, my mother?"

"No, your guardian angel," said Cas, without missing a beat.

"Damn, why don't I get a guardian angel?" said Dam, trying to break the obvious tension.

"I may switch guardees, since mine doesn't seem to appreciate my services."

"Sam doesn't wan your 'services'," mumbled Dean in a voice meant for the angel's keen ears only, then, more audibly, "Bacon's ready."

*****Icarus*****

"Hey Dean, remember our friend Len?"

Dean looked up from the gun he had been cleaning. "Uh, weird as hell, soulless, took the rap for all those murders Len?"

"Yeah," said Sam. "He's dead."

"What?"

"Yeah. I decided to retrace our steps back to where the trail went cold on Amara, see if there was anything we might have missed. Turned out he's not the only one to have died suspiciously in Fall River since we left."

"I'm listening," aid Dean.

"A teenage girl turned up dead about a week after Len. No apparent connection between the victims, but the killers had the same MO. Clean. Professional. Almost like an assassination."

"But who would want to assassinate a teenage girl?" said Dean.

"Maybe she knew something someone wanted to keep quiet," said Claire.

The men both jumped; they hadn't heard her come into the room.

"The police report says that the girl, Goldie, was also killed while in jail," said Sam. "For trying to kill her mother with a frying pan."

"A frying pan?" said Dean incredulously. "What do you reckon? Demon possession?"

"Or Amara's soul-sucking at work again," said Sam. "That could be the connection between our victims."

"But who would want to kill off Amara's leftovers?" wondered Dean aloud. "Last I checked, she didn't seem overly concerned with cleaning up after herself."

"Maybe she's working with someone," said Claire.

"Okay," said Dean, "but who?"

"Just then, Castiel appeared in the doorway from the living room. "I don't know, but I think I just found someone who might."

*****Icarus*****

"Cas, you can't be serious."

"I am very serious," insisted the angel, stubbornly. "I am telling you, I saw him."

"We don't doubt that," said Sam, "but hasn't Metatron caused us enough problems already?"

"Yes," agreed Castiel, "but he's human now, and so no threat to us. He may have valuable information, however."

"That he'd be willing to share with us?" said Dean dubiously.

"I can be very persuasive," said the angel, his eyes flashing momentarily with power.

"Cas, you didn't tell us you got your mojo back."

Castiel shrugged, rippling the feathers on his wings. "Not completely, but it should be enough to put on a convincing show for Metatron." Dean looked far from convinced. "Anyway, we won't know until we try, right?"

"He has a point," said Sam. "What more do we have going for us right now? We've got an angel in our back pocket, we should use him. And if anyone can tell us about the Darkness, I'm betting it's Metatron."

"Cas isn't a tool for us to use," Dean snapped.

"Dean," said Cas, laying a placating hand on the hunter's arm. "I want to do it. Sam's right, we're out of other options."

"Fine," grumbled Dean. "Looks like I'm overruled. We'll try and track down Metatron, but I'm not happy about it."

*****Icarus*****

Metatron would no longer have shown up on Angel Radio even if Cas had been able to tune into it, so he, Claire, and the Winchesters had to rely on the same method the former Scribe of God had been using to find his stories-listening to police scanners. It took them a few false starts and fruitless stakeouts, but finally they hit the jackpot.

"I'm sorry, buddy, you live, there's no story.

"Jeez," whispered Claier, making a face. "What a sleeze."

"You're telling me," Dean whispered back.

"Shhh," hissed Sam.

"I'm not that guy anymore," Metatron continued, pocketing the dying man's cash. "I can't save you."

"I can."

Dean had to admit that it was an impressive sight: Castiel appearing suddenly, as though from thin air, his un-beglamoured wings extending above and behind him like twin tangible shadows on either side of the angel.

Metatron startled and whirled around to face him. "How did you find me?" His eyes scanned Cas' form and went fractionally wider. "And what's with the wings?"

"Same way you found him," said Cas, ignoring the second question and striding past Metatron and nearly knocking him to the ground with his wings. "Scoured the police scanners. Got ahead of the authorities."

Praying to anyone who care to listen that he had enough juice to do it without passing out, Castiel knelt beside the bleeding human, held his hand out, and _healed_.

 _"Cas?!"_ growled Dean. "Dammit, stop showing off!"

"Shhh!" said Sam again.

Cas rose again to his feet, barely; the world spun sickeningly before his eyes, but he managed to stay upright. He blinked, dragging Metatron and his video camera into semi-focus, and reached out to strike the camcorder out of the former angel's hands.

"Hey! Do you have any idea how much stuff I had to steal, and then pawn, to pay for that?"

Cas didn't know. Nor did he care. He felt dizzy and nauseous and the police were coming; he could hear their sirens over the ringing in his ears. He grabbed Metatron's arm and dragged him toward the Impala.

"Why'd you have to bring the chuckleheads along?" Metatron whined, as Sam grabbed him by the jacket and bundled him into the backseat. Cas, meanwhile, practically fell into the passenger seat beside Dean.

"You okay, buddy?" said Dean, ignoring the facefull of wing and laying a hand on the angel's arm.

Castiel nodded. He would be, as soon as the world stopped spinning.

By the time they got back to the bunker, Cas had recovered enough to at least hide how awful he felt. Doing so didn't exactly improve his mood, however.

"Okay, _Marv_ ," he snapped, in reference to the name emblazoned on Metatron's baseball cap. "Picking pockets, leaving a man to die... I don't know what I expected, but this is disappointing."

They were in the Bunker's dungeon. Sam and Dean had carried Metatron in, none too gently, and deposited him on the chair that had formerly been occupied by Crowley. They hadn't bothered to cuff him-any one of the three of them could have taken him easily if he had tried to escape. The former Scribe of God looked so pathetic Castiel almost pitied him. How the mighty had fallen. Apparently not too low to run his mouth however.

"You're one to talk. I mean, look at you," Metatron gestured to Castiel's arching wingspan. "Not exactly the picture of angelic health, unless manifesting your wings on this plane is a new fashion trend. Not to mention you chose the life of a wage slave, slinging slurpies for what, a month?"

Justifying his pathetic, miserable behavior as simply the new way of the world, Matatron actually seemed proud of what he was doing. Or maybe that was just what he had to tell himself in order to sleep at night.

"Save your story," Cas cut him off. "It's not what we came for."

"Oh," said Metatron, seeming rather crestfallen at being deprived of the opportunity to narrate his new life as "Reality's Author."

Castiel was more than happy to take him down a peg when he started going on about how he had hidden the Demon Tablet where they would never find it.

"You hid it under your mattress," he deadpanned. "Do you realize you have bedbugs? What do you know," Cas continued, ignoring Metatron's self-righteous protests about having broken into his apartment, "about the Darkness?"

Cas knew immediately that Metatron had the information they were looking for. Getting it out of him, however, was another matter. Whether he could tell that the angel was not at full power, or he truly believed him to be unwilling to hurt him, or whether he was simply masochistically goading him into a rise, the former angel hadn't lost his ability to know exactly what to say to get under someone else's skin.

"You are broken, Castiel..."

 _...worthless, pathetic, can't do anything right..._

"Just look at you. Just look at your _wings..._ "

 _...a failure as an angel, a bigger failure as a human..._

"You are so paralyzed by trauma, by fear..."

 _...you've made so many mistakes, it would take 1,000 lifetimes to make up for them all..._

"You can't even hurt me."

The sound of his fist hitting the side of Metatron's face made Cas want to throw up.

"It's not fear," he growled.

And it wasn't. But what did Metatron know of shame? Of guilt? The kind that ate you up inside until you could hardly bear to look at anyone. It was much easier to just be angry. And that emotion Metatron understood.

"I get it. I mean, it must suck, being everyone's tool."

 _"We have an angel in our back pocket, we should use him..." / "Cas isn't a tool for us to use..."_

"Manipulated and used by the angels, by your enemies, by your friends-"

"That's enough." Dean stood in the doorway, glaring daggers at Metatron. "If you want to play games, you can play them with me. _After_ you tell us about the Darkness."

"Letting your boyfriend come to your rescue?" said Metatron, glancing up at Dean. "How very damsel in distress of you." He laughed through the blood in his mouth. "Who do you have to thank for how angry you are? How lost?"

"You, for one," said Dean, stepping in front of Cas and shoving Metatron against the wall. "And the rest of you feathered dicks. We're Cas' family now. And yeah, we might have our issues, but we don't owe you an explanation of them. Cas doesn't owe you anything."

Cas was panting, his damaged wings extended out behind him for support. Part of him was annoyed at Dean for stepping in like that. Another part couldn't help but note how undeniably attractive the hunter was when he took charge of a situation.

"Are you going to kill me?" Metatron asked Dean, his voice half mocking, half pleading.

"No," said Dean. "But I'm happy to pick up where Cas left off until you cooperate with us." He gave the ex-angel a shake to show he meant business.

"You want the truth?" said Metatron. "Most people don't. The truth would make the Bible Thumpers' heads explode. They want their God to be a finger-snapping, all-powerful Creator. They want magic. Mary Poppins." Dean threw an _I'll explain it to you later_ look over his shoulder at Cas. "But what He did. Creation? That took work. It took sacrifice. In order to Create the World, God had to give up the only thing he'd ever known."

Dean and Cas exchanged another look: Now they were getting somewhere.

"He had to betray and sacrifice his only kin. The Darkness. His sister."

 **AN: Dun dun DUN! Ok, so you already know that, lol. I hope I was able to rework those scenes decently. It's challenging but fun. Also, not to delve too deeply into my personal life, but with this chapter you have simultaneously met and bid farewell to the real life Mustang's real life owner, aka the former Sap Police. That being said, if at any point you find my story veering to far into sappy territory, or my characters getting OOC, please let me know. It is my goal to make this story read as much as possible as though it could really have taken place within the world of the show. As always, I definitely appreciate all your reviews, and thank you for reading!**

 **-SQ**


	12. Chapter 11: Another Option

**Author's Note: I have been looking forward to getting to this part for AGES. I apologize for the short chapter, but it kicks of an exciting sequence of events. At least I think so.**

 **-SQ**

 **Disclaimer: Look it up.**

 **Chapter Eleven: Another Option**

The Cage. Sam drew a shaky hand across his face, trying to dislodge the image of the endless, chains suspended over boundless nothingness. The visions were getting more frequent, more urgent. Sam was no stranger to visions, and he was sure these ones were meant to tell him something. Possibly a way to defeat Amara. And if God was trying to tell them something, Sam was of the opinion that they should pay attention. Dean, on the other hand, didn't want to hear it. Dean, it seemed, didn't want to hear much of anything recently.

"He is completely overreacting, Sam!" Dean slammed his empty beer bottle down on the table so hard the bottom cracked. "She cast a freakin' spell on me! I couldn't move! I need another beer." He pushed past Sam to the fridge.

Sam let it go. For now. Dean was impossible to talk to when he was like this, Sam knew from experience. And Cas wasn't any better.

Cas.

Sam's fingers stilled on the cream-and-gold feather he had been fingering absently. He had exhausted all his other resources. Books, websites, the old Men of Letters journals, none of them had gotten him any closer to figuring out where the feather had come from. Or how. Or why. It was driving the hunter up the wall. The angel might not know any more about it than he did, but it was worth a shot.

*****Icarus*****

Castiel started at the knock on his door, quickly stowing his Angel Blade. He hadn't been going to use it, not really. He didn't so much want to die as to simply...cease existing. _Could you even die if you weren't really living?_ Holding the blade made him feel a little bit more like himself. It also made him miss it that much more. He wondered why his Father had bothered bringing him back at all. Sometimes He wished he hadn't.

The knock came again.

"Come in," the angel said tiredly. It was probably Claire; the girl had taken to bringing him food when he missed meals, which was more often than not. He was charged up enough that he didn't really need to eat, and he wasn't sure how his vessel's daughter could stand the sight of him, wearing her dead dad's face and all, but he welcomed the company, and the distraction.

This time, however, it wasn't Claire.

"Sam."

"Hey Cas. I know it's late, but your light was on, and you're kind of my last resort."

The angel tilted his head. "Your last resort for what?"

Same stepped into the room and closed the door. "I found this...thing. I don't know where it came from or how it got here, and it's kind of driving me crazy."

Cas found his curiosity piqued in spite of himself. "What kind of... _thing_?"

Slowly, almost reluctantly, Sam withdrew the feather from his pocket and held it out for Castiel's inspection. The angel took it with a quizzical expression that turned first into one of shock, then of incredulity.

"Sam," Cas demanded, "where did you get this feather?"

"I found it," said the hunter, taken aback by the intensity in his friend's voice. "Why? Do you know what it is?"

" _Where_ did you find it," the angel pressed him.

"Here," said Sam, "in the bunker. Cas, what-?"

"That's impossible," muttered Castiel, turning the gold-and-cream feather over in his fingers.

"What's impossible?" asked Sam. "Cas, what is it?"

Cas looked up, a frown creasing his brow between those intense blue eyes. "It's an angel feather. An _Archangel_ feather."

Sam felt his blood run cold. "Lucifer?"

Cas shook his head. "No, Lucifer's feathers are copper and red. And his energy is all different. This feather belongs to Gabriel."

"Gabriel?" said Sam blankly. "Gabriel's dead."

"I know that," said Cas harshly, wincing slightly at the reminder. "But this is definitely his feather. I'd recognize it anywhere."

"Well, what is a dead Archangel's feather doing in our bunker?"

"I don't know, Sam," said Castiel, his wings rustling in a shrug.

"How did it get here?"

"I don't _know_ , Sam!"

"Okay. Do you...do you think he could be alive?" asked Sam, his eyes on the golden feather in the angel's hand. "Could he have been brought back like you were?"

"It's possible," said Castiel dubiously. "But Archangels are made of different stuff than the rest of us. Primordial stuff. It would take a lot more 'mojo,' as you and Dean put it, to bring one of them back. And a lot more time." _Do you see God making that kind of effort?_

"But what if he was?" Sam persisted. He wasn't sure why he was so hung up on this. It wasn't like he exactly had many fond memories of the Archangel who had spent over one hundred Tuesdays killing his brother in every way imaginable. But in the end, Gabriel had fought on their side. And died for it. For them. And it was thanks to the Trickster Archangel that they had known how to seal Lucifer back in the Cage at all. Surely that was worth something.

"Then he's probably hiding out playing Trickster again," said Cas tiredly. "What do you want me to do about it?"

"You have to admit, having an Archangel back on our side would be useful." _And then maybe we wouldn't need to visit the Cage. If we had Gabriel, we wouldn't need Lucifer._ Maybe God was giving them another option.

"A lot more useful than a broken Seraph," Castiel agreed flatly.

"That's not what I mean, Cas," said Sam. "We're up against the Darkness. You said Archangels are made of primordial stuff. Well, she's pretty much the definition of 'primordial.' We can use all the help we can get."

"Right," said Cas. "Well, even if Gabriel _was_ alive, _and_ he was willing to help us, which is doubtful, I wouldn't have a hope of finding him in this condition." He gestured disparagingly to his drooping wings.

Sam's gaze followed the movement. He had been so obsessed with this feather recently, he realized hadn't even been by to check on Cas in days. "Cas, how are you doing? Are you okay?"

"Do I look okay?" the angel snapped. Then he signed. "I will be fine, Sam. I always am. Don't worry about me." He held the gold-and-cream feather out to the hunter. "Keep this if you want. And don't let it fall into the wrong hands. If nothing else, an Archangel feather is powerful. Maybe it will bring you more luck than came to its original owner."

Sam took the feather and pocketed it. After a few moments, it was clear that the angel was not interested in pursuing further conversation. Sam awkwardly patted his angelic friend on the shoulder. Cas barely acknowledged the gesture.

"Let me know if you need anything, Cas."

Castiel nodded and, taking that as a dismissal, Sam left, leaving the angel staring morosely into space.

When the door had closed, Castiel buried his face in his hands, fingers tugging at his vessel's-no, _his_ dark hair. Gabriel… What he wouldn't have given to see his older brother again. _No_ , he told himself sternly, _you've been down this path before._ He'd already been tricked into getting his hopes up about the youngest Archangel once. He'd seen what he wanted to see, allowed Metatron to get inside his head, and nearly fucked everything up. Again. Castiel didn't know who he could trust anymore, but he was pretty sure himself wasn't on that list.

*****Icarus*****

This was all too much for Sam. The whole mess with Amara, who was MIA again. These visions of the Cage that were getting more frequent and more intense. This...whatever it was between Cas and Dean. And the feather. Gabriel's feather. What was it doing there? How had it gotten there? Could the Archangel really be alive?

Gabriel was tricky-his other persona was Loki after all-and he loved riddles. Cas didn't seem very optimistic about their ability to find his older brother, or the Archangel's willingness to help them if they did. But Cas didn't seem very optimistic about anything lately. And what if Gabriel wanted to be found? Why else would he be sending them messages? Of course, that begged the question of why he didn't come right out and contact them in a less cryptic manner. Unless...Sam stopped with his hand on his bedroom doorknob. What if the Archangel was in trouble?

Sam almost laughed. The very idea was ridiculous: an Archangel asking them for help. But Gabriel had never been like the other Archangels. He had faked his own death and left Heaven and his whole family behind. His brethren probably hadn't been too happy when they found that out, if their reaction to Cas' perceived betrayal was any indication. He knew Lucifer certainly hadn't been. And Sam had seen what the angels were capable of doing to their own when they were angry or displeased.

There was little love lost between the Winchesters and their erstwhile, last minute (and questionable at best) ally, but if Gabriel _was_ alive, and the angels were punishing him for siding with the humans, with the Winchesters, and helping to avert the apocalypse, and if the feather was a call for help...

That was an awful lot of ifs, even for Sam. They should be focusing on Amara. But that was a dead end right now, and Sam was going stir crazy sitting around here with his brother and Castiel brooding like moody teenagers. Claire at least was decent company, but she too was getting restless, wanting something to hunt. Something to _do_. Sam had told her not to go looking for trouble, but truthfully, he couldn't blame her; he felt much the same.

Sam opened the door, grabbed his laptop, and turned around again, heading for the Men of Letter library. Gabriel's feather magically appearing in the bunker when he was supposed to have been dead for the past five years meant something. It had to. And since Sam was the one who had found it, he was determined to figure out what.

 **AN: I SWEAR, I had planned on bringing him back since I started this story, LONG before the show decided to beat me to the punch! Let me know what you think of my version? Lol**

 **-SQ**


	13. Chapter 12: Sammy Takes the T-Bird Away

**Author's Note: Not gonna lie, I'm SUPER excited to finally get this chapter up! It's pretty much a double length chapter (not that you're probably complaining, lol), but I didn't want to break it up in the middle. Maybe that'll make up for the last one being on the definite short side? I've done a lot of work on this chapter, so I hope it's paid off and you enjoy it. A big thank you to my real life friend, who I'll refer to by his chosen alias of Andrew, and also to Jawn Lennon Aid for beta-ing certain scenes of this chapter, so I could give you the best product possible. It also has a good amount of all three of our boys, plus Claire. And maybe someone else as well ;)**

 **-SQ**

 **Disclaimer: Surely you know by now.**

 **Chapter 12: Sammy Takes the T-Bird Away**

Claire knocked on the bedroom door. "Castiel? Castiel, come on, I know you're in there."

"It's not locked," came the angel's listless response.

The girl pushed the door open. Cas was sitting on the bed, playing a game on his cellphone, but he looked up when Claire entered.

"Oh, hi Claire."

"I'm bored," said the teen, stepping fully into the room and checking the door closed with her hip. "Sam's got his nose buried in a book and Dean has a bug up his ass. Mind if I hang out for you for a bit?"

"Oh, uh, sure," said Cas, sounding surprised. "If you want to."

Claire settled herself on the edge of the bed and picked up a book off the bedside table, idly flipping through it.

"You're reading Harry Potter? Man, I loved these books."

"Books plural?" said Cas. "There are more?"

"Are you kidding me? Where have you been? It's a seven book series. That was made into 8 movies. It's only, like, the most popular franchise this century. My dad read them to me when I was a kid."

There was a very awkward silence.

"I am sorry for intruding special between you and your father."

"That's not what I- You're allowed to read whatever books you want, Castiel. A hundred million other people have."

"You must hate me."

Claire looked up from _Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone_ so fast that she dropped it. "What? Where did _that_ come from? I don't hate you. You, Dean, Sam, Jody, and Alex are the closest thing I have to family."

"Claire, I am not your father."

"I know that."

"I'm the reason you don't have a father."

Claire took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Cas..." She pressed her knuckles against her lips.

"You can say it."

The girl shook her head, frustrated. "It's not that simple, Cas. Yes, I guess technically you're one of the reasons my dad is...gone. Dead. But I don't think of you that way, not anymore." She ran a hand through her hair in an unconscious imitation of Dean.

"I'm done being mad. At you. At my dad. The world, well, I'm still working on that." She chuckled darkly. "But my dad made a choice. As you told Dean, he actually prayed for it. And now he's gone. You, Dean, Sam, Jody, Alex; you're all I have left. I'd be an idiot to push that away."

Castiel swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat. "Claire, how can you even stand to look at me?"

"You really don't look like him," the girl told the angel. "No, seriously. I mean, you do, but you don't. I don't know how to describe it exactly, but you move differently, you carry yourself differently, your voice, your expression, the weird way you phrase things... You may have his face, his body-and yeah, that's undeniably weird, but what in our lives isn't?-but that's where the resemblance ends. The rest is all you."

"I'm not sure that's a good thing," said Cas bitterly.

"It is," said Claire simply. Her mouth quirked in a half smile. "Well, most of the time."

*****Icarus*****

Dean knocked back his fifth glass of whiskey, or was it his sixth? He had lost count. He had planned on getting laid tonight, but so far, none of the chicks who had entered the bar had seemed worth abandoning his glass for.

"Mind if I sit here?"

Dean looked blearily up at the dark-haired man, who had his hand on the back of the bar stool next to Dean's, and shrugged. "Sit wherever you want, it's a free country."

The man chuckled and took the seat, flagging down the bartender as he did so.

"Two nitro stouts. Pints."

When the bartender placed the glasses in front of the newcomer, he slid one across the counter to Dean.

"You look like you could use a change of pace." He held up his glass. "Cheers."

"Cheers," said Dean, halfheartedly clinking his glass against the other man's and then downing half of it in one go.

The stranger's thin mouth quirked below amused grey eyes. "I guess you were thirsty. It's good stuff, isn't it."

Dean nodded his appreciation; it _was good_. Better than the beer version of two-buck-chuck he usually drank, that was for sure.

"So, I bought you a beer," said Dean's new drinking buddy. Dean noticed there was as dimple on one side of his mouth when he smiled. "You think that's at least worth telling me your name? Or you can buy me one and we'll call it even."

"How about I do both?" said Dean, indicating to the bartender that they'd like another round. "Name's Dean. You?"

"Andrew," replied his companion. He finished off his first glass and dabbed his mouth with a paper napkin. His fingernails were short and well-kept, but his hands were callused. Andrew may have been pretty, but he wasn't just a pretty boy. Or, rather, man. Andrew actually looked like he had a few years on Dean, though certainly not in a bad way.

"Either you've got something on your mind, or you're just entranced by my devilish good looks."

Dean flushed and then mentally cursed himself. The alcohol must have been going to his head; usually he was better at controlling himself around attractive men. It wasn't for nothing that he could count on one hand the number of people who even knew he found men attractive at all. Sure, he was primarily interested in women, but Benny and Cas hadn't been the first members of his own gender to turn his head.

The man next to him was chuckling, which made a matching dimple pop out on his other cheek. "I know, I know, I need to work on my pickup lines."

"Trust me," Dean found himself saying, "mine are a lot worse."

"I'd love to hear them sometime," said Andrew, his eyes twinkling. "Maybe it'd give me an ego boost."

Dean's head was spinning, from the other man's attention or the alcohol he wasn't quite sure; probably a combination of both.

"I-I'd better get going," he muttered, putting down some cash to pay for the drinks and pushing himself a bit unsteadily up out of his seat. "My-my brother's waiting for me."

"Your brother," said Andrew blankly. Dean couldn't blame him; it was the lamest of lame excuses. He might as well have said he was late for his curfew.

Dean was halfway to the door when the world lurched sickeningly. He barely made it to the parking lot before losing his liquid dinner all over the asphalt. Because he needed to look even more pathetic.

Dean felt a hand on his back, and another one handed him a wad of napkins.

"Easy there, tiger." The voice was Andrew's. "Let me take you home. Where do you live?"

"I'm fine," mumbled Dean, shrugging the man's hand off his shoulder and wiping his mouth. He spat onto the pavement, wishing he had a glass of water, and started toward his car.

"I can't let you drive like this," said Andrew firmly, taking Dean's elbow and guiding him toward a newer model pickup truck.

"I said I'm _fine_ ," snarled Dean, pulling away once more. He stumbled and would have fallen if the other man hadn't caught him.

"You're drunk," said Andrew matter-of-factly. "So either you call someone to pick you up, I call you a cab, or I'll take you home myself. Your call."

Dean glared at the other man, but realized he was pretty much out of options. While a few inches shorter than himself, and no match for him under normal circumstances, Andrew was obviously more than capable of overpowering Dean in his current state. He was just lucky it was a well intentioned ( and undeniably attractive) human and not a monster bent on killing or mutilating him. Furthermore, and infuratingly, Andrew was right; he was certainly in no state to drive, and he wasn't about to risk Baby doing so. He could, and probably should, have called Sam, or even Claire, to come get him; there were plenty of spare cars in the bunker garage, and a few of them even ran. But Cas and Sam would have his hide, and his car keys, if they knew he'd allowed himself to get this incapacitated, and he really didn't want to deal with a bitchy little brother right now. So, cursing himself once more, and saying a silent apology to Baby, Dean grudgingly gave the other man the name of a motel nearby. He'd call a cab back to the bar to get his car in the morning

*****Icarus*****

Dean woke to a splitting headache and his phone ringing.

"Dean, where the fuck are you?"

Dean picked up the crumpled pamphlet of the nightstand. "The Wayz Inn off Highway 181."

 _"Why?"_

"What's it to you?"

" _Dean_ , I've been calling you all morning. We didn't know if you were dead or kidnapped or-"

"Relax, Sammy, I just had a few too many last night and decided to crash here to sleep it off."

Sam made an exasperated sound. "Would you just come home, Dean?"

"Jeez, Sammy, you sound like a clingy girlfriend. Is something the matter?"

"No," said Sam, trying to ignore the itch of the feather in his pocket. "I just want to go to the store; we're out of milk."

"Well then, drink a beer," said Dean, and hung up.

*****Icarus*****

"Sam, I thought you were gonna get more milk!"

Dean shut the refrigerator door with a little more force than strictly necessary, causing the contents to rattle. He thought he heard something inside break. "Dammit, Sam!"

Claire appeared in the kitchen doorway, looking annoyed. "What are you carrying on about, Dean? I'm trying to study."

"We're out of milk," grumbled Dean.

Claire stared at him incredulously. "Then go to the store and get some. You're a big boy, it's not rocket science."

"Oh, screw you," muttered Dean. "Sam!"

Claire, who had started back toward her room, whirled around again, her hands over her ears. "For the love of-"

"Where are my keys! ?"

"Oh, you've remembered you have legs," said Claire sarcastically, as Dean stalked past her toward Sam's bedroom. "Can you pick me up some tampons while you're out? I'm due for my period." Her addendum was rewarded by a twitch of Dean's now more rapidly retreating shoulders.

Smirking, Claire returned to her own room and shut the door, putting on her noise cancelling headphones for good measure.

When Dean knocked loudly on Sam's bedroom door and there was still no answer from within, he tried the handle and found that it was unlocked.

"Sammy?" Dean pushed open the door and poked his head inside. "What did you do with my keys?"

The room was empty, but the keys to the Impala were sitting on Sam's desk.

"Bitch," Dean muttered, pocketing the keys.

He went down to the Bunker's garage, grumbling about little brother's who welched on running errands, and then stopped in the doorway. Dean knew this garage like the back of his hand; he'd spent hours here with these cars, he knew every inch of every one, so he sure as hell knew when one of them was missing. The space between the red MG Midget and the black Packard, where the light green Thunderbird was supposed to be, was empty.

Dean's first thought was Cas; had the idiot up and run again? But no, the Angel Warding he had placed around the Bunker hadn't been tripped. He felt a little bad about that, truth be told, but what was he supposed to do? Dude was a flight risk.

It couldn't have been Claire; he had just seen the girl not ten minutes ago. So that left Sam. Come to think of it, Dean hadn't seen him since the night before, when he'd said he was going out to the store. That was more than twelve hours ago. Dean pulled out his phone and called Sam's number. There was no answer, and the fucker had disabled the GPS tracker.

*****Icarus*****

"Cas! Cas, I need your help."

Cas looked toward the door; that was Dean's voice. He was more than half tempted to tell the hunter to fuck off, but he didn't. What was the point? He hadn't been able to yet, not for any extended length of time, and he didn't have the energy to try and start now. At least when he was being useful, he didn't feel so worthless.

"Come in, Dean."

Dean pushed the door open. "Sam's gone," he said, without preamble.

The angel looked up at him, tilting his head. "What do you mean, gone?"

"I mean gone, Cas!"

"Was he taken? By Amara? Or Crowley?"

Dean shook his head. "It looks like he just...left. Took the T-Bird and drove off into the night. It's a kind of car, Cas. And before you ask, no, I don't know why. We didn't fight or anything. He told me he was going to the store to get milk."

"Do you think he found something?" asked Cas.

"If he did, I don't know why he didn't tell me about it," said Dean, annoyed. "Look, I know you're not all juiced back up yet, but do you think you could try to find him?"

"I can try," said Cas dubiously. "I'm not sure how much good it will do."

"Thanks, Cas," said Dean, patting the angel on the shoulder.

"Anytime, Dean," muttered Cas.

*****Icarus*****

"It's no use," said Castiel, panting, "something's warding him from my angelic sight. Maybe if I were stronger..."

"Give it a rest, Cas," said Dean, handing the exhausted angel a glass of water, which he drank thirstily, "before you wear yourself out completely. If he's warded, he's warded. I just want to know how. And _why_."

Castiel wiped the sweat off his forehead with the sleeve of his trenchcoat and swallowed down his sudden nausea. "I think...I think someone may have set a trap for your brother. Or more likely, he's fallen into a trap that was meant for me." The angel flinched, expecting Dean's anger. He wasn't disappointed.

Dean, whose hand had instinctively gone out to support his angel's back, pulled away. "Explain."

"He came to me a few days ago with a feather."

"A feather?" said Dean blankly.

"He said he had found it in the Bunker. It belonged to Gabriel."

"Gabriel?" said Dean incredulously. "Your brother Gabriel? The Archangel of Being a Pain in the Ass."

"That...adequately describes him, yes."

"He's dead," said Dean. "We saw Lucifer kill him."

"Yes," said Cas again, who did not particularly appreciate the reminder of his favorite older brother's death. "But Sam may have taken the appearance of his feather as evidence to the contrary."

Dean met Cas' eyes; he didn't think he'd ever fully get used to how intense that not-quite-human

gaze could be. "But you don't think it is?"

The angel sighed, his wings rippling. "I don't know, Dean, but it's a lot to stake our hopes on. It seems to me like, what's that human expression? Something about reaching for hay?"

"Grasping at straws?" said Dean, chuckling in spite of himself.

"Yes, that," said Castiel. "It just doesn't seem likely. I'm afraid someone was trying to use Gabriel to get to me again, and they got Sam instead."

"Again?" said Dean.

"Metatron...it's a long story. We should keep trying to find Sam. Maybe one of your hunter friends has heard something."

*****Icarus*****

Sam blinked and shook his head as though coming out of a daze. He wasn't sure how long he had been driving to get here, or where exactly 'here' was. What he did know, the only thing his still befuddled brain was certain of at the moment, was that whatever force, or power, or whatever it was that had been drawing the feather, and subsequently him, toward it, was emanating from this place right here. Except, there wasn't anything here. Okay, that wasn't strictly true. There were a few trees and a crumbling brick wall, and the rusty old remains of a swing set and a merry-go-round. It was all a little creepy, to tell the truth, and decidedly not heavenly or angelic. But maybe that was the point; since when was anything in their lives what it appeared? Anyway, he wasn't about to have come all this way and not do a little poking around. Professional curiosity, you understand.

Sam put the T-Bird in park, grabbed the feather off the dashboard, and got out to have a look around. It was raining, the kind that seemed light, but would have you soaked through it minutes, but Sam barely noticed. The feather in his hand had started to hum. Well, not hum, exactly. More like vibrate at a frequency he could feel in his blood.

"Uh...Gabriel?" said Sam feeling rather silly. Then, on an impulse, "Abrenil?"

The air in front of Sam rippled, reality folded in on itself, and suddenly Sam was standing in a very different place than he had a moment before.

"What the-?" was all Sam had time to get out before he fell to his knees, retching. It felt as though someone were wringing his insides out like a dish towel. There was something in front of him, so blindingly bright that he couldn't look at it straight on. He turned his head, trying to make out whatever it was from the corner of his eye. At first, all he could see was an epicenter of gold light, its overwhelming radiance obscuring anything else than might be contained therein. As his eyes adjusted, or maybe he was just starting to go blind, Sam thought he was able to make out a shape amidst the brilliance. No, not a shape, six shapes, curved and feathered, radiating out from the center point like a pinwheel. Angel wings. Archangel wings. "Gabriel."

Sam felt the entity's attention shift at the sound of his name, as if noticing another presence for the first time.

 _"Castiel?"_

The voice, as loud as the light was bright, was inside his head, so the hands he clapped against his ears did very little to stop his skull feeling as though it were being split open. A wash of Enochian flooded over him, too fast for Sam to follow, even if he had been able to understand the language.

"Gabriel, stop!" he begged, tears of pain streaming down his face. "It's Sam! Sam Winchester! Gabriel, please, you're hurting me!"

Sam sensed confusion, and the light dimmed fractionally. Squinting, Sam made out the bars of a cage, from behind which the presence that was Gabriel was emanating.

"I'm-I'm here to help you," croaked Sam, who had never felt less helpful in his life. "But you've gotta turn down the brightness, and the volume."

 _Confusion. Pain. Fear. Anger._ Then, in English, haltingly _"He...sent...you?"_

"What? No. No one sent me. I came on my own. I found your feather.

 _"Feather. You... Castiel... Dammit!"_ The light flared.

Sam yelled in pain and flung an arm across his eyes. "Ouch! Gabriel, don't do that!"

" _How?"_

"Look, Gabe, I've got questions too, a whole book full of them, but first we gotta get you out of here. And in order to do that, I have to be able to get close to you without being burned alive."

 _"No!" Fear. Panic._

"Gabriel, don't you want to be rescued?"

 _"Castiel!"_

"Cas isn't here right now," said Sam, feeling a little miffed, "so you'll have to make do with me."

The Archangel whimpered.

Sam, whose skin now felt like it was being torn apart molecule by molecule, on top of everything else, was losing patience. "Are you going to let me help you or not?"

The light flared briefly, causing Sam to fling his arm up in front of his face once more, then dimmed to manageable, though still uncomfortable levels.

The form inside of the cage was the same shape and size as Gabriel's vessel, though its features

were still obscured by the golden light. Six golden wings protruded from his back, each weighted down with a ball and chain inscribed with what Sam recognized as Enochian sigils. These were attached to similar shackles on his ankles and a singular one binding both his wrists together. As Sam came closer, he realized the angel's eyes were closed; this entire exchange had taken place while Gabriel was asleep, or unconscious.

The cage itself did not have any visible lock or key, a fact which posed no small problem, or would have, if Sam's hand hadn't passed straight through the bars as though they were not even there. Apparently whatever it was made of was designed to keep angels in, not humans out. Sam was nearly as surprised to find that Gabriel's shackles were not attached to anything beyond the angel himself.

"Come on, Gabriel," Sam muttered, gathering the unconscious Archangel into his arms. "Let's get you out of here." Gabriel's power washed over him through the points of physical contact, making the human stagger. "Easy," muttered Sam, fumbling with Gabriel's flopping limbs and his bonds which, while surprisingly light, seemed to elude Sam's grasp like living beings. "Easy. Don't, I dunno, blast me or something."

Finally, after several clumsy minutes of trial and error, the Archangel hung limply in Sam's arms, his blonde head lolling on the hunter's shoulder. It was unnerving, seeing the cocky, sarcastic, breezily powerful Messenger of God sleeping like a child. You know, if children were generally found with shackles on their wrists and ankles. He'd gotten used to Cas' growing humanity, even when their friend was capable of saving or ending a life with the touch of his finger. But seeing the same vulnerability on Gabriel, especially junxtaposed with his brightly glowing aura and six golden wings, was a whole new level of bizzare.

And now came the question of just how he was going to get the unconscious angel out of his magical prison. Adjusting his hold on the other man, if man he could truly be called, Sam reached out a hand and tested the bars of the cage; it still passed through them. If he could just keep the Archangel from coming in contact with his prison...

It took a good deal of maneuvering, and some contortion the hunter was sure his back would remind him of later, but Sam finally managed to wrap his large body around the smaller one in a manner that allowed him back out of the cage without any part of Gabriel, or his bonds, touching the bars.

"I can't believe that worked," he muttered, letting out the breath he had been holding and hoisting the angel further up onto his shoulder. While a minute ago he had felt like he was literally dying (and Sam had some experience with that), he now felt, if not good, at least capable of managing the task at hand. He had a sneaking suspicion that the additional strength was coming from Gabriel, and he wasn't at all sure how much the Archangel had to spare, but he would worry about that once he had gotten both of them to at least relative safety. Wherever they were seemed deserted, but he had just performed a jailbreak on somebody's high profile prisoner, so he doubted it would stay that way for long. Now, just how were they supposed to get out of here (wherever "here" was) and back to the car?

On the hunter's shoulder, Gabriel stirred. It would be a pity to lose the car-it wasn't every day that you found a T-Bird in that condition, or that color-but neither of them was in any condition to drive it. So, using what was left of both his and Sam's depleted strength, and Sam's memories to pin down the location, Gabriel sent himself and his rescuer tumbling down to Earth once more.

*****Icarus*****

 _ **THUMP!**_

"What was _that_?"

Dean, Cas, and Claire looked at each other across the table. So far they had had no luck in locating Sam. It felt like looking for Claire all over again, or, Dean supposed, himself when he had been a demon. Not a reassuring thought.

"Does someone want to go look?" asked Claire, glancing toward the door.

Cas and Dean looked at each other.

"Uh, yeah," said Dean. "You two stay here."

He got up, went to the door of the Bunker and pressed his eye against the peephole. A haggered figure looked back at him. A haggered figure that was carrying his unconscious brother bridal style.

Dean let out a yell, which brought the other two running. Fumbling with the lock, Dean opened the door and two bodies pitched forward into his arms.

"Sam. Sammy!" Dean pulled his brother out from under the shorter man and shook his shoulders, slapping his face when he got no response. Sam groaned; he was still alive.

Meanwhile, Cas squatted next the the other prone figure, turned him over, and actually gasped.

 _"Dean."_

"What?" snapped the hunter, his attention still on his brother.

The angel looked up, his blue eyes wide with wonder. _"It's Gabriel."_

 **AN: HE'S BACK! I'd been planning this since the very beginning, then the damn show had to go & beat me to the punch! Lol. I would love to know what you think about that scene with Gabriel; I was really trying to do his status/power as an Archangel justice. I know this chapter probably left you with a whole lot of questions. They will be answered in due time, I promise.**

 **Those really are the cars in the Bunker garage, btw; I made sure to figure out the models shown in the scene for accuracy. And since the T-Bird was the most logical option for Sam to take, I just couldn't resist with the title, lol.**

 **Your reviews are very much appreciated!**

 **-SQ**


	14. Chapter 13: Abrenil

**Chapter Thirteen: Abrenil**

 **Disclaimer: I haven't even seen the last three episodes of Season 13 yet, and you think I own anything? No, seriously, I haven't seen them yet, I live on a Cruise Ship, so please don't spoil them!**

 **Author's Note: Sorry for the long delay! #shiplife And I've been dealing with trying to get my broken phone screen fixed in my 3 hour windows in Miami every week :P It's a long chapter though, if that helps make up for the wait. And I rather like it, though I'll let you be the final judges.**

 **-SQ**

"Are we _sure_ that's Gabriel in there?" Dean asked for the dozenth time, pacing back and forth outside the doors of the rooms where the two unconscious men, human and angel, were currently laid up.

"Yes," replied Cas again. "His Grace is bound, but I can sense it. I do not know how, but that really is Gabriel."

"What did he do to my brother?" Dean demanded.

"I'm not sure it was Gabriel who did anything to Sam," said Castiel slowly. "Either way, I've done all I can for them at the moment; they are both stable. We will know more once they wake up."

Dean looked at the angel. His face was ashen and his wings, which had been healing well, were drooping once more.

"Cas, you're dead on your feet. Why don't you go lie down? Like you said, you've done all you can for them right now. You're no goo-there's no sense in making yourself sick again. You've earned some rest. Claire or I will let you know if anything changes."

Cas gave Dean a small smile. It didn't reach his eyes, but Dean returned it anyway.

"Go on," he said. "You can, um, lie down in my room if you want."

The angel nodded and left the room without meeting his eyes.

Later, when Dean went to his room and found it empty, he wasn't sure whether the stab of emotion he felt was relief or disappointment.

*****Icarus*****

Sam's first panicked thought was that his encounter with the Archangel had left him deaf and blind. Taking a few measured breaths to calm himself, which was difficult when it felt as though his chest had been sat on by a gorilla, he realized that his senses were already beginning to adjust from their recent overload back to the normal light and sound levels of the earthly world.

"Sammy?" Dean's voice sounded muffled, as though it were reaching him through a padded tunnel, yet it still made him wince. His head hurt like hell.

"Where...where am I?" he croaked, blinking rapidly in hopes of speeding along the restoration of his vision. Today was not his day for witty conversation, if it even was still the same day.

"The bunker," answered Dean. "Dude, where _were_ you? You totally pulled a Houdini."

"I'm not sure," admitted Sam. "I was following-" Gabriel! "Dean," said Sam urgently, "Gabriel. The Archangel. He's alive. He was with me, did you-"

Dean cut him off. "Gabriel's here. I don't know _how_ he's here, none of this makes a lick of sense, but he is."

"A lick of sense?" Sam chuckled weakly. "You sound like Bobby."

"Oh screw you."

Sam could still feel the echo of the Archangel's pain and panic like fire in his veins.

"How is he? I mean, is he okay. Is he...?"

"He's alive," said Dean. "And out cold. Other than that, we're not really sure, to be honest." He shook his head, at a loss. "He _looks_ fine, but Cas says he's pretty torn up. On the inside. Sam, what happened? How is he even alive? And how did you know? Cas said something about a feather...?"

"I don't know, Dean," said Sam, shaking his head so that his shaggy hair flopped in front of his eyes. He explained to his brother how he had found the feather, and his conversation with Castiel. "I can't explain it, Dean, but I just knew I was supposed to listen to it, to go where it wanted me to go, as crazy as that sounds."

"You're damn right it sounds crazy," said Dean. "As crazy as psychic visions and exorcising

demons with your mind."

"It wasn't like that, Dean, I promise," said Sam. "It wasn't me, it was Gabriel's feather."

"Why didn't you tell me, Sammy?" said Dean, not knowing whether to feel hurt or just annoyed. "We could have tackled this together, instead of you running off like a thief in the night, and losing a perfectly good T-Bird while you were at it." Dean had liked that car, dammit.

Sam rubbed his neck ruefully. "I take it we didn't drive home."

"No," Dean confirmed. "By the sound of it you...landed. Literally."

"Gabriel," said Sam. "He must have done something...angelic." He waved his hand vaguely.

"Well, whatever he did, it fucked you up good," said Dean. "You've been out for a day and a half."

"A day and a half?" said Sam, horrified.

Dean nodded. "Like I said, it fucked you up good. Cas patched you up as best he could, but he's still pretty much running on empty."

Sam nodded. "How is Cas?"

"Exhausted, so don't expect anything more out of him for the time being."

"I think I'm okay," said Sam, mentally evaluating himself for lasting damage and finding none. "Just a little banged up and rattled. Gabriel didn't mean to hurt me."

"Hold up, _Gabriel_ did this to you?"

"Yeah, but like I said, not intentionally. I don't think so, anyway. He was scared, confused, and in pain. I don't think he was even conscious. They had him chained up in this sort of...cage...thing."

"They?" asked Dean, who was feeling more confused, and therefore more annoyed, by the minute.. "Who's They?"

"I'm not sure," said Sam again. "Angels? Demons? I didn't exactly stick around to find out." Sam swung his legs over the side of the bed.

"Whoa whoa whoa," said Dean, "where do you think you're going?"

"To check on Gabriel," said Sam, trying not to sound as woozy as the motion had made him feel.

Dean gave him a funny look. "I told you, Cas has got it. Let him handle Feathers."

"Dean, seriously," Sam insisted, "I'm fine." He tested his legs and found, somewhat to his surprise, that they could hold him. "Honestly, I expected to feel a lot worse than I do."

It was true. Yes, his head ached, his limbs felt as though they were filled with lead, and he was pretty sure he now knew what it would feel like to attempt to swallow cotton mixed with sandpaper; but all things considered, Sam figured an angelic hangover was getting off lightly. He

had seen what angels' true forms and voices could do to people unfortunate enough to encounter them, and he guessed that the only reason he was still in possession of his eardrums and eyeballs was that Gabriel's Archangel mojo had been somehow bound by the shackles on his wrists and ankles.

Sam's stomach grumbled loudly. "I could use some food, though," he added. "And some water; my throat is killing me."

*****Icarus*****

Castiel stood beside the bed, looking down at his unconscious older brother. More emotions than an angel was supposed to be capable of feeling churned in his head and in his gut. Long gone were the days of sitting at Gabriel's feet, watching with rapt attention as the Archangel conjured all sorts of tricks and treats for the fledglings' amusement. This had been just before the birth of Christ, when the youngest Archangel had been called back to Heaven to fulfill his duties as the Messenger of God. Castiel remembered his brother fondly; he had certainly been the only one of the Archangels who had had any time for the fledglings, and the only senior angel who had ever been any fun. In fact, it had been Gabriel who had first introduced a young Castiel to the concept of "fun"; something which his nursemaids had not exactly approved of.

But then Gabriel had left again, before Cas had been old enough to join the Garrison himself, and his training had been handed over to other, less indulgent teachers. Like Naomi. Centuries had passed before he had seen his favorite brother again, nearly two millennia, in fact, and then it had been inside a TV Land pocket universe of Gabriel's own creation. Things had moved rather quickly after that, with the looming Apocalypse and all, and the two angels had never gotten the chance to properly catch up.

Cas had taken Gabriel's death hard; the one angel in all of Creation who might have possibly understood the Seraph's situation, and he had to go and get himself stabbed. And now here he was, alive (again?), after all these years. Six years on Earth felt like about six centuries in Heaven.

Castiel wouldn't have known what to say to his brother even he had been awake to hear it.

"A lot has transpired while you were away," Cas muttered to the unconscious Archangel on the bed in front of him. "You have, as Dean would say, a lot to catch up on."

*****Icarus*****

After a dinner, and a much needed shower, Sam found himself outside of the room where Gabriel lay unconscious. He couldn't explain his need to see the Archangel to himself, let alone Dean, but after what he had seen, and felt, when the blonde was being held captive...he had to see for himself how the angel was doing.

Castiel was pacing near the foot of the bed; the seraph had not left his brother's side since he had arrived at the bunker, except briefly to attend to Sam and to get a few hours of fitful sleep, at

Dean's insistence.

"Sam, it is good to see you have recovered."

"Yeah, thanks for that, Cas," said the hunter. "I know it must have taken a lot out of you, fixing me up. I appreciate it."

"No need to thank me," said the angel. "You're family."

Sam grinned. Then his gaze shifted to the room's other occupant, and his smile faded. "How is he?"

"He's put himself into a healing coma," said Cas. "Some angels, skilled healers, can put other angels, and even themselves, into a state of induced unconsciousness when their Grace and life force are running low," he continued, by way of explanation. "It helps us to recover faster."

"Then it's a good thing, right?" said Sam, puzzled by Cas' somber tone.

"Not when an angel's Grace is bound like Gabriel's is," said Castiel. "Bound, his Grace will be unable to recover enough strength to bring him out of his coma."

"You mean he's stuck like this?" said Sam, horrified, looking down at the prone form of the Archangel. If he hadn't known any better, Sam would have thought the slight, golden-haired man on the bed was merely sleeping. Of course, if he hadn't known any better, he would have thought the unconscious man wasn't one of the most powerful beings in creation either. He could almost hear Dean's sarcastic, exasperated voice: _"We found an Archangel, and he's completely useless. Awesome."_

"Yes and no," said Castiel slowly. "It is beyond my power to unbind Gabriel's Grace, but we may be able to rouse him from the coma. Do you still have his feather?"

Sam nodded, pulling Gabriel's golden feather out of his pocket. Even in the dimly lit room, it seemed to glint, as though reflecting light from some invisible, or internal, source.

Castiel's own inky black feathers rustled slightly as though in response. He took the golden one from Sam's somewhat reluctant fingers.

"An angel's wings, in their true form, are made of pure Grace," the seraph explained. "Having a piece of them here on this plane may help us draw Gabriel's consciousness back here as well."

"What do I need to do?" asked Sam. The usually energetic and bubbly, if rather obnoxious, Archangel's utter stillness was starting to unnerve him. He wished Gabriel would move, or breathe, or something.

"This would be a lot easier if I had access to Angel Radio," Castiel groused. "But that's not safe for either of us, even if I could tune in-we're not exactly on Heaven's Most Honored list at the moment. More like Heaven's Most Wanted."

He stroked the golden feather absently, in much the same way Sam had grown accustomed to doing. "Where you able to speak with Gabriel at all when you rescued him?"

"Kind of," said Sam, struggling to find the words to accurately describe the experience of feeling the Archangel inside his mind. "It was more...feelings and impressions than actual words. As far as those go, they were mostly in Enochian, so I didn't understand much. He kept insisting that it should have been you there rather than me," he added, feeling a bit miffed once more at the memory.

Cas blinked at this unexpected information, feeling a rush of pleasant confusion. Gabriel had been expecting him? Did that mean he had sent his feather to the Bunker as a message for the seraph? In that case, he reflected, deflating from his moment of happiness, he had failed yet again.

"Cas?"

The angel shook himself. He would have plenty of time to dwell on his many shortcomings later-right now there was work to be done.

Castiel laid one hand on Gabriel's brow, the other one holding the Archangel's feather securely but carefully, almost reverently, as though it were truly made of gold.

"Gabriel," he murmured. "Heaven's Messenger. You are needed now on Earth. Return, brother. Reunite your Grace and reawaken your mind."

The angel repeated this, or so Sam assumed, in Enochian and several other languages, most of which Sam didn't recognize.

The hunter suddenly remembered something from his attempts to communicate with the imprisoned Archangel.

"Cas. _Cas_." He had to say his friend's name several more times before he got the angel's attention.

"When we were-wherever we were, at first Gabriel didn't even seem to notice I was there. He only started responding to me after I called him...oh, what was it...?" The hunter paused, struggling to remember the strange name that had come to the front of his mind almost of its own accord. "Abrenil." That was it.

The air seemed to shudder when Sam spoke it, and Castiel's head snapped around to look at him, his blue eyes as big and round as a cat's.

"How do you know that name?"

Sam shrugged, taken aback by the intensity in Cas' voice and feeling there was something important he was missing. "I think I read i somewhere, maybe in Kevin's translation of the Angel Tablet. What does it mean?"

"It is Gabriel's name," said Cas gravely, his voice so low Sam had to lean in to make out what he was saying. "His True Name in Enochian. It holds great power and is not to be spoken lightly."

Sam inhaled sharply. Many cultures believed that knowing or speaking a person or being's true name gave you power over them; he had a hard time imagining Gabriel allowing anyone to have that kind of power over him.

Cas seemed to read something of his thoughts on his face. "It's not as simple as being able to control him or tell him what to do. Use of a True Name us as dangerous for the namer as it is for the named."

"Dangerous," said Sam, with a sinking feeling in his stomach. He did not like the sound of that; they had enough danger in their lives already. "How so?"

"Speaking an angel's True Name evokes the power of that angel," said Castiel gravely. "Imagine what could happen if you were to lose control of such power."

Sam shuddered; he didn't have to be told twice that that would be bad news.

"I won't say it again," he promised fervently.

"You may have to," said Castiel. "If you want to call Gabriel back." Sam stared at him like he was crazy. "If you call to him using his True Name, he has to answer," explained the angel.

"And possibly bring down the bunker around our ears while he's at it," said Sam.

"Hopefully not," said the angel seriously.

"Why don't you do it?" said Sam, who didn't want that kind of responsibility on his shoulders. "He's your brother. And you have a better chance of controlling angel power than I do."

"I can't," said Cas regretfully.

"Why not?"

"Gabriel hasn't given me permission to use his True Name."

"I'm sure he'll forgive you, under the circumstances."

"You don't understand," said Cas. "I can't. It is forbidden for an angel to evoke another angel's True Name without permission. If I tried, my Grace would burn me alive from the inside out."

Sam winced. "Okay, let's not do that. Are you sure that won't happen if I use it?"

"Not as long as you maintain control," said Cas seriously.

That was far from reassuring. "And if I don't?"

The angel shrugged. "I don't know. I have never known a human to use an Archangel's True Name before."

 _Great_ , though Sam, _I'm a Heavenly guinea pig._

 _But_ , said a little voice inside his head, _you used it before and nothing bad happened. It worked._

 _Yeah, and do I really want to try my luck with that twice?_

Still, it didn't seem like he had much of a choice, not if they wanted to wake Gabriel from his self-induced coma. And Castiel was looking at him expectantly with those big, blue puppy dog eyes.

This was Cas' big brother, he realized. _How would I feel if it were Dean lying in that bed?_

He held out his hand and Castiel placed the feather into it.

"Abrenil," he said softly, laying his other hand on the Archangel's brow as Cas had done. His skin was cool to the touch. "Come back to us. Reunite your Grace and, uh, reawaken your mind." There was no response. He glanced at Castiel, who indicated for him to continue.

"Come on Gabriel, Abrenil," he pleaded. "Follow your feather, come back to Earth. Things are a little hairy here right now and we can use all the help we can get. Abrenil, Gabriel, we need you. I need you."

Sam held his breath, willing something to happen. The air around them crackled with the power of Gabriel's True Name. On the bed, the Archangel's chest rose and fell almost imperceptibly.

Wait a minute-Gabriel hadn't been breathing a moment ago. And the flesh under Sam's palm was definitely warmer than it had been before. Not just warm, but hot. Too hot. Sam tried to snatch his hand away from the angel's forehead and found that he couldn't. The feather, too, had become uncomfortably warm; his palms were starting to blister.

"Cas!" he cried, suddenly unable to seen the angel through the bright light emanating from the bed before him.

"Sam!" cried two voices, and he realized that his brother hand joined them. Two sets of hands grabbed his shoulders and ripped him away from Gabriel, who was now hovering in midair, radiating a blinding golden light. Swearing profusely, Dean tried to drag Sam toward the door, but the younger hunter stood transfixed.

"Come on Sam, _move_ ," growled Dean, trying to shield Sam's eyes from the glare as well as his own. Sam shook off his awe and stumbled after his brother into the safety of the hallway.

"What the hell is going on?" Dean panted, once he had gotten his breath back.

"Gabriel put himself into a healing coma," said Sam, sounding equally winded and supporting himself with his elbows on his knees, as his palms were burnt raw. "His Grace isn't strong enough to pull him out so we were helping him."

Dean looked at his brother as though he were crazy. "Helping him? You nearly shook the bunker down around our ears!"

"Sorry," asid Sam weakly.

Dean growled. "I've about had it with you doing things behind my back, Sam. I thought we had an agreement."

"I know, Dean, I'm sorry," said Sam again. "Cas suggested it, and you have to admit a functioning Archangel would be a nice asset to have. I didn't think-"

"No shit, Sherlock."

The bedroom door opened and both brothers looked up. Gabriel was standing in the doorway, leaning heavily on Cas.

"Hello, Dean-o, Samsquatch. What'd I miss?"

 **AN: Gabriel! For his True Name, I basically traced both Semitic languages and entities/ideas that could be connected with Gabriel back as far as I could, and combined the two to come up with an "Enochian" name that has at least some basis in something real/historic. And yes, of course I had to include the "We need you. I need you," line in there ;)**

 **Please let me know what you think. Your reviews mean so much :)**

 **-SQ**


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